


To Go Forward, You Must Go Back

by CaptainTarthister



Series: The Affair [8]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Divorce, Explicit Sexual Content, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Infidelity, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime and Brienne's future is written in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone in the World

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one takes place ten months before the current timeline in Part 7.

Selwyn would tell her he was tired.

“You only need to take it easy, Dad,” was Brienne’s answer, swallowing the lump in her throat.

This had become the uneasy, difficult dance between father and daughter. If she wasn’t at his side in the hospital, swallowing her tears and praying to the gods silently, she was practically on her knees in their kitchen, begging him to live with her and Oberyn. Selwyn had been difficult and short-tempered since his stroke, yelling at the nurses hired to take care of him, hating how everyone nagged him to be careful, to take it easy. Brienne took the brunt of it. Selwyn refused to be in a home and she didn’t want her father to end up there either. But to remain in their house he had to have a nurse looking after him. He swore he didn’t need looking after. He didn’t need anyone, period.

The stroke hadn’t affected his mind and motor skills but he couldn’t be left alone anymore. Brienne knew her father valued independence and despised the professional care surrounding him. Even if she left her job, it didn’t mean she could live with him as she had a husband. Oberyn was still not around much, except for when he flew to Tarth with her when informed about his father-in-law’s first attack. 

A year after her miscarriage, they began trying again. Month after month had Brienne loathing the blood on her underwear. It mocked all their efforts and she wondered what was the point of even trying anymore. Then when Selwyn got the first of his many heart attacks, which led to his first stroke right after, she was to drained to even think of trying. She and Oberyn only fucked once, three months later. It had been clinical and unsatisfying. 

Oberyn hated it when she talked about Selwyn. She accused him of not caring, he accused her of the same thing. This became her life. If she wasn’t crying helplessly over her father’s stubbornness, she was angry at Oberyn. She wasn’t the best company and would have gone on a monk-like existence if not for Margaery nagging her to go out once in a while or Jaime calling her just to check how she was. They were the only people who seemed to remember to ask how she was doing.

The two most important men in her life were tearing her apart.

One afternoon, she was in a meeting with Catelyn and members of the museum board when Podrick peeked in through the glass panel of the door and caught her eye. Excusing herself, Brienne rose from her seat and went to her assistant. 

“It can’t wait until the meeting’s over?” She asked him, shutting the door behind her.

“Sorry, Brienne,” Podrick apologized. “But it’s your dad.”

Everything happened at once. The latest nurse she’d hired a month ago was in the hospital because Selwyn had suddenly collapsed. Doctors were trying to revive him at the moment. Brienne’s voice was disembodied and hollow as she murmured she had to go, she had to be with her father. She didn’t even know if she had enough money in her purse, only that she was armed with her credit cards. On the way to airport, she called Oberyn and miraculously, he answered on the third ring.

“It’s my Dad,” was all she could say, breathlessly. “I’m leaving for Tarth. Now. I’m on my way to the airport.”

“Wait for me there,” Oberyn told her.

She purchased two tickets and paced back and forth waiting for Oberyn. He arrived sprinting fifteen minutes later, hair windblown and his black eyes big. Suddenly, their arguments and cold treatment of each other no longer mattered. His arms swooped around her and she held him tightly.

“It’s going to be alright, baby,” he whispered, stroking her hair, her back. He seized her face and dragged her lips down to his mouth. She nodded through their kiss, shivering and still feeling like none of this was real.

It was the longest three hours of her life. Since they didn’t have any luggage they proceeded right to the arrivals area. Oberyn hailed a cab and instructed the driver to take them to Evenstar General. Brienne received a text from the nurse saying that Selwyn had been stabilized and was in the ICU now. She conveyed the news to Oberyn and he touched her knee.

“I told you. He’s going to be okay. He’ll be in ICU for a night or two then they’ll move him and he’ll be out by next week or earlier.” 

She wanted so much to believe that. 

Selwyn’s nurse, a strong-built, young brunette named Gilly was waiting for them at the hospital. She was quick to tell Brienne about Selwyn’s condition and brought her over to his cardiologist, Samwell Tarly. He was a classmate from high school. 

“I wish we’re seeing each other under better circumstances, Brienne,” he told her as he shook her hand.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” She asked.

“His condition is stable. We’ll have to work through this step by step before I can pronounce him out of the woods,” Sam told her. “Would you like to see him now?”

She nodded and he led her to the private suite.

Every time Selwyn was in the hospital, he seemed to become smaller, more frail. Gone was the apple-coloured flush in his cheeks, the playful glitter in his sapphire eyes. Brienne thought she would get used to the sight of him like this, asleep and looking lost in his gown, but every visit was a punch in the gut. She hovered by the door, clutching at the doorknob. She stared dumbly at Selwyn’s sleeping face, tired and lined deeply.

“It’s okay, Brienne,” Sam held out his hand.

“Is he in a coma?” 

“No. He’ asleep. He needs to rest. Come on. It’s okay.”

Brienne took his hand and Sam brought her to Selwyn.

“Your daughter’s here, Selwyn. She’s worried,” Sam said, patting her hand. Then he turned to her and said, “Five minutes, okay?”

“Who’s going to look after him?” Brienne demanded.

“He’s resting. The nurses will keep watch.”

“But what when wakes up and he’s. . .he’s alone?”

Sam sighed. “Brienne—“

“I’m not leaving my father to be cared for by strangers. I’m staying.”

“That’s highly unorthodox. I can not allow that.”

“Sam—“

“Brienne, come on. Don’t do this.”

“This is my father. He’s your friend too. How do you think he’ll be when he wakes up with all those tubes and some nurse hovering over him? You know how he is. I should be here. And you know it.”

 

Brienne gave Oberyn the key to the house. Like Sam, he tried convincing her to leave and rest but she wasn’t having it. She would keep watch over Selwyn for the night then have Gilly take over while she rested. Leaving was still an idea she couldn’t get around right now but at least, when Selwyn woke up, it wouldn’t be with a complete stranger.

She slipped a few coins in the vending machine for a soda a few hours later. Her stomach was growling but that meant having to leave for food. She took the can of ginger ale from the slot and headed back to Selwyn’s room.

Her phone rang. Oberyn. Concerned, she quickly answered, “What’s the matter?”

“You’re awake? It’s close to midnight,” he said, startled.

“Oh.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Wearily, she slumped on one of the benches in the hallway. “I didn’t realize.”

“You sound awful. How’s Selwyn?”

“He was murmuring a while ago but otherwise, he’s asleep. What’s the matter?”

Oberyn sighed deeply.

She tensed. “Oberyn?”

He cursed then grunted, “I need to go back.”

“Go back? Go back where?” She demanded. When he didn’t answer, she swore loudly. “ _Fuck you!_ Are you going back to Westeros?” 

“Brienne, it’s not like I was the one who set fire on the plant—“

 _“I don’t care if people are dying!”_ She exploded. This was unbelievable. “I’m your wife. I need you. I’m scared. Why do I always have to fight for you to be here for me?”

“Baby, please, let’s not fight.” Oberyn begged.

Tears slid down her cheeks. “Then don’t fucking go. Please. _Please._ ”

“I'll lose my job. Your father will be okay. I’ll be gone just for a day or two, Brienne. _I promise._ I swear to you I’m coming back as soon as I—“

“Just go,” Brienne growled and hung up. 

 

Selwyn died the next afternoon.

Brienne locked herself in the bathroom and gave in to the sobs tearing at her. She fell on the floor clutching her knees to her chest, shivering from the cold tiles as hot, fat tears dripped down. Her sobs and gasps were heartbreaking to the ears. Sam had called the time of death already but he wouldn’t have Selwyn’s body taken away before letting Brienne see him one last time. Gilly looked at him; she was just as confused and helpless. She had only been working with Selwyn for a month but he was a nice if cranky man. And Brienne was a nice employer. 

When Brienne calmed down, she trudged out of the bathroom, looking pale as a ghost. Sam asked if there was anyone he needed to call and she shook her head. Even if he called anyone, no one would be here for a few hours. There were arrangements to make. 

She spent the day filling out and filing paperwork, settling outstanding bills from Selwyn’s last stay. She got in touch with her father’s friends and told them the news, crying again. Galladon was the first to arrive from the police force. Upon seeing him, Brienne was swept in a tight bear hug and she sobbed, knowing that her father’s large arms would never hold her again. When the paperwork was done, he drove her home. Brienne crept to Selwyn’s bedroom. His familiar spicy scent drew tears from her eyes again and she collapsed in his bed, crying. Galladon tried to make himself comfortable on the couch but there was no way to block out the sounds of her anguish. 

Despite this, Brienne was up before sunrise. Her tired swollen eyes squinted at the glare from her phone as she scrolled through the names. Her chin wobbled from the effort of restraining her tears and she braced herself for having to repeat those dreaded words. She could wait at a more decent hour. Wait until she was calmer but that was it, she was never going to be the same. Less than twenty-four hours since arriving at Tarth, she had gone from being someone’s daughter to an orphan. 

She listened as the phone number she was calling rang and rang. Instinct told her to drop the call, it was too early but she just couldn’t. Finally, his sleepy but annoyed mumble was in her ear.

“J-Jaime?”

“Brienne?” He demanded. She heard the sharp rustling of sheets and imagined him sitting up, suddenly wide awake. He grunted.“Where are you? Why are you calling?”

She sniffled and whimpered.

“Are you crying?”

She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

“Brienne? Wench, you’re scaring me. Are you hurt? I swear—“

“Jaime, it’s my Dad.” She clutched at the phone. “He died.”

 

 

The funeral took place one day later. Brienne stood sandwiched between Galladon and Oberyn, who held her by the elbow. They had not spoken much since he had arrived late last night. Jaime, Margaery and her boyfriend, Renly Baratheon, stood behind them. 

Brienne was not listening as the sept recited the prayers from The Book of the Stranger. How inappropriate it was a name for a god, she thought. Nobody knew what happened after death, or when death would come but her father was no Stranger. He was her father. Warm smiles. Comforting hugs. Kind. Loving. Beside her, Galladon was trying to contain his tears but he couldn’t. She put a hand on his shoulder, shook off Oberyn’s hold and hugged him. 

“He’s my best friend,”Galladon said, his ham-like hands brushing at his tears impatiently. “He’s the best man.”

“He is,” Brienne murmured, her heart hurting. “Was.”

After Selwyn’s coffin was lowered to the ground and earth thrown over it, people started leaving. Margaery kissed Brienne on the cheek and hugged her, telling her that she was staying in a hotel but could stay with her if needed. Jaime was next. His green eyes scanned her face and Brienne looked away, realizing how distressed and miserable she looked. He took her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” he told her, his stare sincere. He swallowed. 

“Thank you for coming,” she whispered.

His warm hand remained wrapped around hers. He glanced over his shoulder, caught her eye. Brienne nodded and let him steer her away from the crowd. Just enough to give them privacy but not so far that anyone would take notice. Oberyn was standing beside Galladon and talking quietly to Margaery.

“How are you, really? What do you need?” He asked.

Brienne looked at her shoes, at the earth then him. “My father.”

This time, they hugged. Brienne buried her quiet sobs in his shoulder as he caressed her hair and rubbed her back. He was strong and warm, comfort and security.  
“If I could, I’ll make it happen, my love,” he said in her ear.

She nodded. “I know.” He really would.

He pulled out a handkerchief and gently patted her tears away, making sure not to scrape her skin red and raw from crying. “Blow,” he urged her, and she blushed, shaking her head. He rolled his eyes

“Wench, we’ve done far more intimate things than this. Our friendship won’t end because you got snot on my handkerchief.” 

“Fine. But you’re not keeping it.”

“Why? You think I’ll use your DNA to clone you? Now that’s something.” He joked. As she fought back a smile, his eyes softened. “There you are, wench. Now, blow.”

 

 

Brienne was so tired after the funeral but her father’s friends still gathered at the house. Casseroles of all kinds came and crowded the table in the kitchen, the counter. Fortunately, Oberyn stepped up this time and circulated through the crowd. It was rude but she limited her radius to Margaery, Renly and Jaime. 

Bit by bit, the guests left. Brienne walked Margaery and Renly to the door, suddenly nervous to be alone with her husband. 

“When are you flying back?” Margaery told her, tucking a stubborn lock of blond hair behind her big ear. “I thought we could go together.”

“That’s really nice but I’ll have to close up the house, look for somebody to keep an eye on it,” Brienne said. “It’s going to take me a few days.”

“We can wait,” Renly told her and she could tell he was being sincere.

“Thank you but you’ve done so much already. I appreciate the offer, please believe that.” 

“Okay. If that’s how you want it, sweetheart,” Margaery pulled her in for a fierce hug. “I love you, Brienne.” She pulled away then said, “You will call me, okay? Anytime. For whatever.”

“I will.”

As Margaery and Renly waited in the rental car, Brienne turned to Jaime. He opened his arms and once again she was there, getting strength from him. As inappropriate as it was, she remembered the last time they were this close. What had happened. How she was. What he did and made her feel: all wrong yet so right, probably the most right she had ever felt. He touched his forehead to hers and she sighed, needing his warmth more than air. 

“Tell me you’ll be okay and I’ll leave.”

“You can’t stay even when I’m not.”

Their breath was feathering each other lips, almost a kiss. 

“I’m flying back tonight.”

She nodded.

“Wench,” and he kissed her on the temple. “You will call me, alright? If not Margaery then me. I’ll fly if I have to. However I need to get to you, I’ll be there. You know that.”

“Yes, Jaime.”

“I’m so sorry, Brienne. I’ll stop the pain if I could.” 

“I know.” She sniffed. “You don’t have to tell me.”

She closed her eyes as he pulled away then opened them when his palm settled on her cheek. She held it there.

“I’ll sleep on the beach if I have to.”

“Go.” She whispered. Pleading with him. “I’ll be okay.”

It was lie. They knew it. But he couldn’t stay, no matter how much they both needed him to.


	2. Breaking the Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is messed up in this chapter so there are some really uncomfortable scenes. You've been warned.

Galladon was the last to leave. His humble, homely face reflected the desolation in Brienne’s. They hugged, Galladon murmuring that would come as long as she called. Like Margaery, he didn’t leave until she promised to do so. 

Brienne closed the door and leaned against it. The house was still warm from the many bodies that had congregated here just a while ago. As quickly as people had come to give their condolences, they left en masse. She didn’t blame them. Drunk parties you lingered and stayed. Post-funeral gatherings you went to with the truest, sincerest intentions but once done with your duty you chafed to leave. 

She picked up the little plates left on various areas in the house. In the kitchen, Oberyn was putting the food containers in the fridge but there still at least a dozen on the counter and the kitchen table. Tupperware containers. Microwaveable bowls. Tins of more baked goods, casseroles, pies. He glanced at her as she went to the sink. With studious motions, she scraped the remains off the china and into the trash can. 

As she straightened up, Oberyn’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind. She stilled, the warmth of his body a slow, rising chokehold but she didn’t remove his arms. His breath washed the centre of her shoulders before she felt his forehead pressed there. 

“I’m sorry.”

They knew he meant more than Selwyn’s death.

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard as he continued resting against her, just there, not doing anything, just letting her know he was there. If he was awaiting some acknowledgement or response from her, she couldn’t give it now. Her loneliness had become a sea, rising, drowning her. She couldn’t break through the surface even if she tried.

“Brienne, I know what I did. Please forgive me,” he whispered as he turned her around.

She was in low heels but was much taller than him so when he stood on tiptoes to kiss her, his lips could only brush her neck. Her fingers dug in the steel, icy surface of the sink as his kisses swept around her throat, the only part of her skin exposed by her high-necked dress. He looked up into her eyes and saw how far away she was. She looked away and he continued kissing her. “Forgive me,” he whispered again, hands lowering to her waist.

Then he slid to his knees.

He leaned his head on her belly. “Brienne, please.”

She supposed that his leaving her at the time she had great need of him was something she should forgive in light of what happened. But forgive him or not, her dad was still. . .dead. Dead and gone. Her heart had been breaking since she’d watched Sam and his team fighting to revive Selwyn. Instead of Oberyn’s presence, his begging, recovering even the littlest piece of a part of her that had begun to drift away, she felt another of those implosions from the inside, setting fire to what was left. To what little was left. 

“I love you, baby,” Oberyn kissed her stomach through the cloth, his hands fluttered to her wide hips. “I never set out to hurt you. I’m so sorry. I’m more sorry than you could ever imagine.” His eyes were the blackest she had ever seen, as if no light could pierce through. “Tell me what to do to earn your forgiveness.”

It was like a code, a code she didn’t know she needed, that had unlocked an unknown vault she just stumbled across.

Even if she wanted to do, no matter how much she wanted to, she would never forgive him.

_You don’t choose me._

_I always have to fight for you to choose me._

Oberyn continued kissing her belly, her hips. She bit her lip when he mouthed her cunt through the skirt. 

“Brienne, please.”

He was not going to stop.

She couldn’t forgive him. That she won’t lie about. 

If she didn’t say the words or showed no signs of relenting, he would just keep begging her and she was tired of it. Tired that when he asked she always gave. She’d done it herself, she knew now, had been party to the situation they had been skirting around and denying for months and months. Maybe she didn’t try hard enough. Maybe she did too much. But this was what they had, all they were, now. It was ugly and dead, food for crows. What faint pulse of life there was, she didn’t see the point of latching on to it and deluding herself into thinking it was hope, that they could still go back. There was no going back.

She wasn’t.

“Forgive me,” Oberyn asked again, unaware that these very words were pushing her farther away. His hands were under her skirt now. Tugging at the ragged pair of panties stashed stiff and unused in her dresser for years. 

She had always given. She could give him this. _It was only flesh._ It wasn’t the heart of her. That was gone.

“Brienne.” Oberyn looked up at her. “I love you.”

Then he raised her skirt.

A faint but broken whimper stuttered out of her lips as he grabbed her by the hips and kissed her cunt. It was a hard, forceful, demanding kiss, ownership instead of desire, passion. She let him pull her away from the sink as his kiss deepened, the rough stubble on his cheeks and jaw painfully scraping the softer, sensitive flesh of her labia. She started to shake, staving off the gradual disintegration spreading inside.

Her skirt tented over Oberyn’s head so she no longer saw him. She felt him. His tongue thrust deep and hungrily in her cunt, fucking her, trying to reach what part of her that he could still touch. He murmured something, it sounded like, “Come on, baby,” then his finger entered her, a hard, cold intrusion that jerked her forward. She should feel pain because she was dry but the sensations Oberyn was visiting on her were ineffective pings or just dents in the walls she had thrown around herself. 

She stared at door but did not really look at it. Oberyn continued to fuck her with his tongue and fingers, groaning against her flesh. She couldn’t see it but she heard him lowering his zipper earlier so she knew he was also masturbating as he sought to pleasure her. _How much longer?_ She thought. She had nothing to give him anymore.

Then Oberyn moaned, harsh and obscene. A trickle hit her leg, dripped to her ankle. She listened to the furious rubbing of flesh against flesh. She drank the air around her, the aroma of mingled food, lingering perfumes and sweat, the sharp, stinging smell of his cum. Air swooped in her lungs and revived her, just long enough to have her thrusting hard against his mouth, drag a grunt from her. That was all. 

“Brienne,” Oberyn panted against her cunt, coated in his saliva, her juice, their sweat. His kiss was strangely tender but she no longer cared. Refused to give it another thought. She looked away as he freed himself from under her skirt and got to his feet, zipping up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take a tissue and wipe it across his mouth. She continued to lean against the sink, her hands now back on the cold edge.

His hand climbed to her cheek and she stiffened. She could smell herself on his fingers. 

“I love you,” he said, kissing her neck. 

If she didn’t do anything, he’d do it again. So she nodded, glanced at him then put her eyes away again.

“Come to bed. We’ve had a long day.” He coaxed her. His tone was dark and sensual. He cupped her breasts and kissed them through the dress. She could barely hide her wince but she managed a nod. 

“Just let me finish here.”

He smiled and kissed her again.

She watched the door swing behind him as he walked past it. Heard him climb up the stairs, head to her room. Heard the thud and squeak from there as he took off his shoes and sat on the bed. The house was so silent she heard the thump of his belt hitting the floor.

She gave it time. Half an hour. Half an hour before she gave in to the storm. She let out a cry, the wail of an animal trapped, hurt and terrified. She thought all her tears had been shed but there were more, a deluge on her face. She cried and shook, seeing through the tears her panties still pooled around her ankles, felt the bruises of his touch, his kiss. 

She was in a house so warm, still warm from the bodies that had been there, their mingled scents still in the air, food that would comfort. Her husband was in bed, asleep now from waiting for her. But she was still alone in the sea of her grief.

Brienne threw her underwear in the trash and tore out of the house.

 

At midnight, the cab pulled up in front of Casterly Company. Jaime handed the driver the fare, plus tip. Then he grabbed his overnight and slid out of the cab.  
Sadness for Selwyn and Brienne, seeing her so destroyed had drained him so much that he couldn’t muster enough will and strength to take the stairs to his apartment. So he unlocked the folding door of the shop first, then the actual glass door. He left the first door halfway up, not comfortable with the idea of sleeping and being confined like that. He locked the second door, of course and as an extra precaution, wrapped chains around the handle and a padlock. Then he waded into the dark cavern of the store. His yawns, long and rude, filled the room.

In his office, he stripped to a t-shirt and his boxers, kept his socks on. The leather couch was going to be uncomfortable but he was too tired to care. He lay down and closed his eyes.

Sleep eluded him. He had fallen asleep on the flight back and was still nodding off when he got in the cab. His body was heavy and simply refused to move any more but his mind, apparently, was still alert and could go on for quite a while. A curse. Jaime opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling.

Restlessness like this was familiar They were torture and lasted until morning. They began when he started fucking Cersei, his body frustrated and longing for her. He would masturbate imagining it was her mouth, warm and greedy, stroke some more seeing her full breasts, imagining her lips against his. She would hiss for him to be quiet, clamp her small hand over his lips when he groaned too loudly. Jaime got intoxicated not just from the feel of her but the thrill, the hot illicitness of their affair. Bed was still the best place for fucking but he came hardest when it was in corners and spaces where they were sure to get caught. He was handsome, he knew that, and charming as hell. The few women that came after Cersei were more than happy to have him fuck them in the bathroom stall of a club.

He told Brienne about these encounters and she would scowl in disapproval at first before she burst out laughing and calling him a ridiculous, horny cad. As she had promised, their friendship survived that night in the beach of Tarth, in spite of his attempts to torch it. He wouldn’t deny outright that there was no lingering attraction but he valued the friendship they grew to have. A lot. He delighted in riling her up and loved it when she smiled, baring her crooked teeth, her beautiful eyes lighting up. They shared very little in common but they often learned so much from each other. He scoffed at art movements but through her, was given a glimpse of the dedication and heart that artists put in their work. She liked to tease that except for her Dad and Galladon, the rest of his book clientele were pretentious, noveaux riche asshats that displayed books rather than reading them. He didn’t deny it but his book dealing business was what kept Casterly Company afloat.

Brienne was all things light and sunny, radiating with it and drawing everyone in. She had never taken him shopping with her so Jaime could say that he enjoyed spending time with her. How Oberyn could go without her company for weeks was beyond him. This hurt Brienne—he knew because he had become her confidant—but she also understood that her husband was away so much because he wanted to give them the good life. She just wished it didn’t take so much to make it happen.

Now his thoughts were on Brienne.

He hoped he didn’t fall asleep now. Awake, he could keep it. . .clean. Dreams were something else. 

Tyrion and Bronn teased him about it. At least Tyrion only teased him about having more than like for Brienne but Bronn, the fucking bastard, was convinced they were fucking. “She’s no beauty but her eyes are pretty and she’s got legs for days,” he said. “If I was hers, I would fuck her for all seven days. And the next seven. Wouldn't you?”  
Neither knew about the incidents in the bathroom and on the beach. Jaime was sorry but not that sorry, but he also didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of how close they came to being right. Brienne was married. He was sick in the head if he got involved with another unavailable woman.

He channeled his attraction to their friendship. Platonic, friendly, close, friendship. It paid off. No regrets. 

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about the tears in her eyes, how crushed and vulnerable she looked standing in the porch when he turned around to say goodbye earlier? Everything in him screamed to take her away, to protect her. It hurt him to see her as he had.

The thing to do would be to check on her. Brienne was a night owl herself and would text back. Sometimes she even snuck out of bed to call him. He knew all too well the expression on her face, he had worn it himself many years ago—many years ago, yes, but the hurt and confusion remained. 

Despite the outpouring of care and support for Brienne during Selwyn’s funeral and after, she had clearly been drowning. Jaime knew exactly how she felt. It was just like when Joanna died. His head and arm hurt from the pats and handshakes from his parents’ friends and relatives. Tyrion had complained under his breath that one more hug and he’d kill himself. Jaime understood. He couldn’t stand it, even when people truly meant it when they said their “I’m sorrys” or declared another generic attribute of Joanna’s in the growing list. “She was lovely.” “Her floral arrangements were always exsquisite.” “She was kind.” All true but not all of her. Never all of her. These words of comfort was driving him to a great rage that he removed himself physically from everyone, even Tyrion. He couldn’t go to his room because Tywin would find him and order him to go back. Casterly Rock was a castle but there was nowhere to go. 

So Jaime got one of the speedboats and hit the sea. 

He had no idea where to go, only that he had to go. Hours it felt he circled and plowed the sea. When the waves got big and the water choppy, he didn’t turn around. It was useless anyway. He had driven in such circles he was lost. Casterly Rock was no longer behind him. He was alone and it hurt but it was the harsh truth. 

He moved on until the engine chugged and coughed, sputtered and went still. He had run out of gas. Instead of panicking, he slumped on the floor and buried his face in his knees. Above him, the sky churned an angry gray and crashed.

Out in the sea, in a little boat, the storm played with him it cruelest of games. Swells lifted the boat and sent it plummeting down. The water got ankle-deep. Silver swords sliced through the dark sky and still Jaime didn’t scream, he didn’t pray. He just watched, still clutching his knees. Should he fall and drown he didn’t care. 

_Mom was gone._

_Beautiful. Gentle. Kind._

Not enough to describe her. Never. Shame—the first emotion to pierce through him since she passed away—and he hated himself for pigeonholing her as the others had. She’s his Mom. He should know better. No, he thought, and felt the unfamiliar sting of tears just as saltwater hit his eyeballs. _Was._ Was his Mom.

Alone in a boat tossed in a mad sea, Jaime Lannister cried. The rage, the sorrow poured out of him as thunder growled.

He must have fallen asleep, exhausted in ways he never thought he’d be because in the next instant, someone was yelling and shaking him hard. He grunted, squinting and wincing from the sun in his eyes. He slapped away the hands on him.

“You stupid boy, thank the gods you’re alive!” Gasped Uncle Gerion from above. Jaime rubbed his eyes and blinked up at his uncle, worry, fear and relief in his handsome face all at once. He sat up and Gerion quickly helped him. His arms went around his nephew and Jaime sank in his chest.

“What did you do?” He asked, holding the boy tight. _“Are you insane?”_

Jaime didn’t answer. 

Gerion muttered he was soaked to the bone and started unzipping his jacket and sweeping it over his skinny shoulders. Jaime staggered to his feet and saw Tyrion in the The Laughing Lion, looking worried and afraid. Now that, Jaime was sorry about. He climbed off his boat and onto the other and slid to his knees to hug his baby brother. His mismatched eyes were red. 

“What happened to you?” Tyrion asked, clutching at his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” Jaime whispered. He kissed him on the cheek and rocked him in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

Tyrion’s tears hit his neck. “I thought you were gone.”

Jaime nodded. The enormity of what could have happened hit him like a tidal wave.

Feeling him freeze, Tyrion asked, “J-Jaime?”

“For a while, I was.”

“Don’t do that again, Jaime.” 

It was many moons but Jaime still remembered how dead he had been that night in the storm. He was cut off and past caring and tired, just really, really tired. Tyrion tried talking to him about it but Jaime couldn’t. All efforts would be nil because unless someone had gone through something similar, nothing would reach him. Feeling himself dead inside was both freedom and desolation, unending tiredness and alone, so very alone. He saw himself in Brienne’s eyes as she stood in the living room, nodding at the sympathetic words raining on her. He could hear her screaming, wanting to go away because she was tired of this, of everything.

Sleep was never coming for him. Jaime got up from the couch and picked up his watch from the desk. It was almost four. Casterly Company would open at ten. He could still sleep later. 

He slipped on his pants and went to the shop. He flicked on some lights and absently grabbed one of the records from the display. Without looking at it, he put it on the turntable, gently pulling and settling the needle over it. 

The delicate caress of the player’s fingers on the piano, followed by the lingering, gentle stroke of the bow across the cello combined into a music that was everything he had locked in his heart and now needing to be released. He also knew it.

_The Swan._

He had stood at the door in the bathroom in Tarth, watching the silver tears streaming from Brienne’s closed eyes as caressed her stomach. Mourning for the life she had lost. Her daughter. 

And it had been painful seeing her like that, so helpless and wishing for the world to end because she couldn’t take the sadness anymore. All he wanted was to shield her from all that hurt. He wanted to put her back together, stitch by stitch, one kiss at a time if need be. Yes, he wanted to kiss her, for down deep there was still the child in him that believed in the magic of a kiss, that it healed and everything was okay. 

He sighed and removed the needle, killing the song and plunging the shop in silence.

“Jaime.”

Fuck. He was sick in the head. He was hearing voices. Her voice.

She knocked on the glass. “Jaime.”

Startled, he turned around. Brienne was bent awkwardly at the waist. She was still wearing her awful black dress, her hair was windblown. Even in the night, her red face stood out like a beacon. He continued to stare at her in dumb disbelief until he heard the first pelts of rain. 

“What the hell—“ he rushed to the door, cursing the padlock and chains. “Hold on,” he said and ran back to the office to retrieve the keys. Rain was surging idown when he returned. His hands were shaking but he got the padlock free, unlocked the door next. He pulled it open and grabbed her by the wrist. “Seven Bloody Hells, it’s cold out. What are you doing without a fucking coat?” He demanded upon feeling the chilled, damp fabric around her arm. Then he saw her barefoot.

“What the fuck happened to your shoes?”

“Um.” She blinked at her feet, as if she hadn’t known about them until he pointed it out. They were dirty. “I couldn’t run.”

Jaime glared at her then yanked the steel door until it hit the ground. Then he locked the glass door, wounding the chains around the handle again. The sound of rain receded in a hush. When he turned around, Brienne had her arms around herself. She was slightly damp. She was leaning against the huge table display. The warmth in the shop would melt away the chill in a bit. He didn’t have to hold her, he told himself. 

“Excuse me, did you just say you ran? From where? Did you run all the way from Tarth?”

She scowled. “Of course not. I flew.”

“What’s the matter? Why are you here?”

Brienne looked at her feet again. Jaime’s heart went out to her but he stood his ground.

Then she looked up. Her eyes shimmered and there was the tell-tale trembling in her plump lower lip.

“I-I couldn’t stay in that house any longer. I just wanted out. Then I realized I couldn’t be in Tarth.” She let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. “My Dad—my Dad always had money in the glove compartment. It was enough for a ticket.” She shrugged.

“You’re skipping over some vital information, wench. Did you run from the airport all the way here?”

“I got on the shuttle. I told the driver I lost my purse so he let me on for free. He offered to drop me off right where I needed to be but I couldn’t take advantage. He was nice enough to let me ride for free. So, uh, he dropped me off. Around fifteen blocks from here.”

Jaime looked at the ceiling and counted to ten before lowering his head to look at her.

“You were out, alone, in the street, at midnight? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It’s past four, Jaime. There are some people around.” She snapped.

“Druggies, junkies, whores and murderers, _you idiot!_ ” He shot back. Gods, sometimes he wanted to strangle her. “You could have called me. You could have borrowed that driver’s phone and called me if you wanted to come here. You knew I would come. Why the fuck didn’t you? Why are you so stupid sometimes?”

As he raged and ranted, he stomped toward her. Brienne, to her credit, didn’t leap back. She just sighed, a tired, long sound.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His hand cradled her by the nape and urged her to look at him. “You scared me. I-I wasn’t expecting you. But you should have called me, wench.”

“Oh, gods.” She muttered but she didn’t shake away his touch. Jaime moved closer until their foreheads were pressing. “I’m sorry. Did I. . .I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” He asked. His eyes were closed as he relished her scent. It was of the sea and soap, tears, rain, and moonlight.

“I didn’t know you had company,” she said as if she were the one imparting a secret.

He shook his head. “I’m all alone, wench.”

As his other arm wrapped around her waist, she put her arms on his shoulders. She pulled away a little so he opened his eyes. The saddest, bluest eyes looked into his. They were the stillness of an ocean before the storm. He transferred his hand from her nape to her cheek.

“What the hell are you doing here, Brienne?”

She bit her meaty lip, drawing his eyes there. He clenched at the sight of teeth reddening it.

“Fuck me,” she said, her voice hanging between a moan and a cry. “Jaime, please. Fuck me. I need you to fuck me, please.”

He held her tighter but forced himself to say, “Brienne, no—“

“Please?” She cupped his cheeks and pressed her lips to his. Begging. He was only a man, and not the best. He kissed her back. Oh gods. It was a drink of water in a harsh desert. It was the sweetest, most succulent fruit. It was an exhale after holding a breath torturously long. It was freedom.

“ _Jaime, please.”_ Brienne continued with her soft, shy butterfly kisses on his lips. _“Please fuck me.”_

 _“Brienne,”_ he groaned and grabbed her.

Outside, thunder boomed but it was no match for the roar of Jaime's heart.


	3. More Than This

Brienne gasped at the ferocious turn of the kiss. Jaime’s jaw knocked against hers but the pain was lost in the heat of their kiss. Never, never had she been kissed like this—this, which she couldn’t describe. Perhaps it had no name. Only a mountain of feelings. She buried her fingers in the soft, golden waves of his hair, turning her head at an angle that enabled him to deepen the kiss that was already touching her soul. That had never happened as well, to feel something so deeply.

She held her breath when he suddenly bent and seized her by waist and thighs, plopping her right on the hard wooden table. It was the most natural thing in the world to open her legs and pull his hard, very warm body between them. He panted against her tongue and leaned into her until she realized he wanted her to lie back. Instead, she leaned on her elbows. Both refused to end the contact of their lips, even for just a second. She did end up doing what he was prompting her to do with the determined press of his body and when she did it was so much better. One long leg climbed to his waist and pushed him until he was right on top of her.

Still kissing, Jaime wrenched his t-shirt off. She huffed in disappointment when they had to separate so he could pull the damned thing over his head and then he was back, warm and seeking, hard and wonderful. Jaime kissing her, on her, was more than good. Beyond better. Past perfection. And oh gods, they were just kissing and touching.  
She adjusted her position and Jaime seemed to think she wanted on top because he suddenly turned and lay on his back. Her eyes widened when he pulled her to his chest and she froze. Oblivious, he started kissing and licking her along the wide line of her jaw, down what was little exposed of her throat by the dress. 

“Uh, Jaime?” She asked as he lipped the firm musculature of her arm through the sleeve. 

“Gods, you feel amazing,” he whispered, taking her by the nape and tugging her swollen lips to his mouth. She shivered as he nibbled her lips before tugging the lower portion with his teeth and pulling it sharply with his teeth. Then to her shock, he sucked hungrily. 

There was a storm inside her. But it wasn’t a storm of devastation. Nothing about this storm brought dread or worry. The closest was an electrical storm, all flash and snaps of light, sparks. Indeed, there were sparks.

“Is this—is this right? Should I be—“ She managed to pull away and ask, her lips moving against his, “Should I be on top?”

He smiled at her and scraped his palm through the hair that had fallen over her forehead, her cheeks. He looked charmed and amused.

“You can be anywhere you want to be, wench.” His thumb played with her tingling lips. “I have no preference. Only that I’m part of your pleasure.”

Not give her pleasure. _Part_ of her pleasure.

It was a brand-new concept!

 _Totally unheard of,_ she thought. 

And because it was something new, she frowned and pulled back. Her knees wobbled so she gripped the table and Jaime’s thigh. He closed his eyes and growled, “Fuck!”  
“Jaime, I’ve only been with one man,” she said, her heart racing.

He opened his eyes an pushed himself up, leaning on his elbows. Her eyes were drawn to rippled expanse of his chest, the colour of a light golden tan. Even the curling hairs looked to be tipped with gold. She licked her lips at the sight of his six-pack. Holy Seven Hells. 

“I know,” he said quietly.

“You don’t understand,” she said, shifting her focus to the problem and panicking. “I’ve only been with one man. _With everything._ I don’t know. . .I don’t know how.”

Seeing that her worry was genuine, he sat up. As he did, something hard and hot brushed her wrist. He grunted and she gasped. His smile was strained as he glanced at his erection before turning to her.

“You’re doing something very right, wench.”

“Are you sure? I mean, is there anything about my kissing technique I can improve on? What do you want me to do?”

“You’re seriously asking me this?”

“What if I’m a bad kisser?”

“Brienne. My wench,” he said, pulling her in his arms. His green eyes twinkled before he turned his head a little to the side and kissed her. It was a gentle, massaging motion of mouths, then, very slowly, of tongues. She moaned and sank against him, her legs liquid. Again, Jaime sucked her lower lip before releasing her. She blinked back at him. It was like looking right in the sun.

“That’s an A plus, truth be told,” he said, his hands stroking her arms.

“You-You kissed me,” she pointed out shakily.

“Alright. So kiss me.”

“How?” She growled in frustration. His huge grin made her want to punch him.

“Kiss me however you like. Wherever you like. Do what feels natural.” He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her close until he could whisper in her ear. “If it helps, I’ll like all that you will do to me. Go on,” he said, moving away and smirking at her playfully. _“Kiss me, Brienne.”_

She took a deep breath and he laughed. Her eyes flashed bright and blue before she lowered her head.

She held her breath and slowly, hesitantly, brushed her lips against his. She had kissed him first earlier, and they had kissed before. But knowing that this was really happening, that they were kissing and touching, that they would fuck for real, it was honestly a terrifying prospect. Oberyn had been the first and only one. What she knew about sex and everything connected to it he had taught her. She was even shy with touching herself and here she was, a woman in her thirties.

Her fingertips fluttered to his jaw, discovering that the faint stubble there tickled rather than scraped. It felt nice, actually. It was a sensation she would like to feel in other parts of her body. The thought made her pause and suck her breath harshly through her lips. 

“Wench,” Jaime said gently as she stared at his lips. They were slender and firm. His upper lip had an impertinent line to it and the lower one looked thinner. She continued caressing his stubbled jaw. “Relax. It’s just me.”

She raised her eyes to his. His pupils were dilated, the black pupils large and the green of his eyes slowly being overtaken by them. 

“My name is Brienne,” she whispered then kissed him.

She took his lower lip between her lips and kissed it, moved her head and captured the upper lip and dared to suck it slightly. Soft, puckering sounds rose from their kiss. Jaime sighed, his breath washing her cheeks. 

_“Brienne.”_

He raised his head, offering more of his lips and she was glad. He liked what she was doing, as he had promised. 

Then she held him by the shoulders as the tip of her tongue wetted the middle of his lower lip. Unintentionally teasing him, she continued with these shy flicks, unaware of the growing stiffness in his jeans. She didn’t see his nails digging in the table as he restrained from forcing her to deepen the kiss now. This was her kiss. She should take her time.

Brienne took another deep breath and this time took a bold swipe of his lips. His mouth opened and she took it as permission to seek his tongue. 

His flavour was dry and he tasted slightly of toothpaste and salt. So unlike Oberyn, who tend to mainline mouthwash and had his teeth bleached, his tongue scraped. Brienne understood the importance of fresh breath but Jaime, he smelled so real and he tasted so good. She tangled her fingers in his hair once again and pushed her tongue deep in his mouth. He held her around the waist then started lowering himself back on the table, taking her with him.

"Jaime, are we--are we--are we going to fuck on the table?"

"Do you want to go to bed?"

She considered it then shook her head. 

"You know the basics already, wench," he teased her. "I'd say you can handle intermediate fucking." He patted the table.

"You're an asshole," but there was no sting to her words because she was kissing him.

“Gods. _Like that._ Don’t stop kissing me,” he whispered, his voice tight. “Kiss me anywhere you like, wench. You can even bite. Just don’t stop.”

So she didn’t She kissed the hard, beautiful line of his jaw, licked his stubble before her lips lowered to his throat. He laughed as she licked his Adam’s Apple, which was bobbing as he swallowed hard. His sexy clavicles were also kissable and his chest. Oh, his chest. She rubbed her cheeks against the hairs, discovered the salt of his nipples. She raised her eyes to look at Jaime, who was groaning and arching his neck as she bit and licked the defined muscles of his abs. When her tongue dipped in his sexy navel, he stiffened and grabbed her by the hair.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” he gasped, loosening his hold. “Wench, you do know that if you keep this up I’m going to embarrass myself?”

“It won’t be embarrassing to me,” she said, seized with a sudden sassiness. Her eyes shone. “I'll take it as a compliment.”

“Later you can suck me all you want,” he promised, pulling her up until she was straddling his hips. “But as I said, I would like to be part of your pleasure.”

She reached for the zipper of her dress and groaned. “Help me with this?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

A loud, very unfeminine laugh bubbled out of her at the obvious relief in his face. She turned around and his nimble fingers quickly dragged the zipper down. Glad to be rid of the constricting garment, she yanked at it impatiently, grunting when she had to get off the table to slide it off completely. She sighed when it fell to the floor and she climbed back on the table. This time, Jaime rolled her on her back.

“I suppose you’re doing the kissing now?” She asked huskily, touching the bunched muscles of his right arm.

“Solo kissing isn’t fun, wench. I expect you to work as hard.” He retorted before his voice softened. She was blushing because she had never been naked before another man, had never said any of the things she’d said to another. Nothing from what they had done so far was familiar in any way. The worry had receded but she hoped Jaime didn’t, well, mow right ahead. 

“Look at you,” he said, his tone reverent. His knuckles brushed her warm cheek and the red flush deepened. 

Brienne knew she was not pretty. Oberyn made her feel accepted in spite of what she dearly lacked in looks. But she didn’t want to be just accepted. She wanted to be. . .wanted. To be dreamed about. She wanted to be longed for not in spite of her ugliness but because of the very thing that made her so undesirable. 

But Jaime was looking at her as if she could be beautiful. 

He wanted _her._ Ugly face, freckles, huge hands, freakish, mannish height, submarine feet

She bit her lip, just barely holding back the sudden tears.

She turned to open his hand and kiss his palm. As her lips brushed his wrist, he kissed her around the face, lingering on her eyelids, her big, broken nose before claiming her mouth. “Oh, Jaime,” she whispered as they kissed, wishing they could be like this beyond this night. 

His lips on her throat ignited the first of the fires that would be set off in her body. She caressed his back, his shoulders as he moved and shifted above her. He nibbled on her broad shoulders, nipped at her collarbones. He even raised her arms so he could kiss her armpits and breathe in her scent from her, making her flush even hotter and redder. Her back bowed and her hips writhed under his when kissed around her breasts. They were small, more buds than breasts, just very slight rises from her chest. Yet he kissed and licked and nibbled them as if they were voluptuous mounds, groaning her name. She pulled her arms up until they hung from the edge of the table. Jaime smiled at her and resumed kissing and playing with her breasts. 

“You have really puffy nipples,” he whispered, tugging one past his teeth and sucking. As she moaned, he released it with a loud pop. “Fuck, wench, you’re making me hungry. You’re all cream and freckly. _Fuck above,_ you taste amazing.”

“You’re driving me crazy,” she murmured, offering her other breast. 

_“Yes,”_ he whispered before wrapping his lips around her nipple.

He kissed and licked down her body as if she were a giant popsicle, it felt. She hissed when he bit a particularly ticklish spot on her stomach. “Stop,” she growled but of course he didn’t and tickled her. She hooted and snorted with laughter, his chuckles soft, wheezing sounds as she grabbed his hair. Then he kissed her hipbones and her grip loosened. 

She watched his golden head moving between her hard, freckled thighs. He nuzzled the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs before sucking. “Jaime,” she cried out, squirming and feeling a hot whirlpool building inside. _Oh, gods._ Yeah, this had never happened before. She wondered if she could convince him to grow a beard

Dazed, she saw him get to his feet and take off his jeans. She sat up and winced, lying back again. It seemed she had lost her bones, her muscles. He laughed and she flipped him the bird, making him laugh harder before he straightened up and stood between her spread thighs. 

She had to be sitting up for this. Heaving herself up with all effort, she stared at his cock. Golden and beautiful as the rest of him. A thick, long column straight up his stomach. She licked her lips hungrily and he groaned.

“Later,” he swore, grabbing her hips. As she jerked against him, he added, “And if you think only you get to have a taste, you’re very much mistaken, wench.”

Confused, she asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I’d rather show you. _Later._ ” He winked then he yanked her to take her mouth.

This was unlike any of their kisses. This was rough, primal and so fucking hot, she thought, dueling with her tongue and mouth. They gripped each other by the nape, her other hand lowering to his muscled back to squeeze his buttocks. But Jaime got the upper hand. She felt him smile slyly as his hand slipped between them and his middle finger pressed on aching button of her nub.

This, she knew. _But not like this._

“Jaime,” she panted as he stroked her, first with one finger then another. Needing him deep and fucking her with his digits, she raised her legs and propped her feet on the edge of the table. He glanced down and nodded.

_“Perfect.”_

Then she was on her back again, his tongue fucking her mouth as his fingers fucked her cunt. She rolled her hips against him, brushing against his dripping cock and drawing a hiss from his lips. She was burning from the inside, everywhere. This was nothing like anything. None of what Oberyn did and aroused in her came close. 

“Please,” she begged against his tongue as his fingers continued plundering her furiously. “Please, Jaime. Fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

“Again,” he demanded. “Ask me again.”

“Fuck me!” She wailed, lifting her hips and throwing her head back when his fingers slid deep and curled. _“Oh!”_

“Do you know,” he grunted, pulling his fingers out and making her snarl, “how sexy you sound when you talk dirty? Ask me again, wench.”

“ _Brienne, you idiot,_ ” she whimpered, trying to move. _There._ His cock. Against her thigh. 

To her extreme frustration, he buried a laugh in her shoulder. He was laughing and he was aroused. He was hard all over! She punched him on the shoulder. “Jaime, come on! Put your cock in me! Stop laughing!”

“Wait,” he whispered then kissed her, sweetly, softly. She kissed him back just as gently.

“Tell me,” she pleaded. "What is it?"

“Say something true, Brienne. I need to hear it.”

Her eyes, half-closed with desire, opened. The playful, mocking, laughing Jaime was gone. In her arms was a man who looked as worried as she had when they first started kissing tonight. _He was afraid._ Her heart clenched before it burst. 

She touched his lips.

“This isn’t just one night, Jaime.”

His eyes widened.

She was not taking those words back. Brienne didn’t see herself as brave but she had always stood by her word. Still, she wondered if she had gone too far.

“I’ll give more than this night if it’s okay.”

“Brienne,” he breathed and then she saw it, the raw need in his eyes. “Oh, Brienne.” He kissed her palm as if it was smooth and delicate instead of calloused. His eyes bored  
into hers, almost-black emeralds into sapphires blown. Then he begged, “Take me inside. _Please._ ”

She nodded and reached for his cock. Together, they gasped as her fingers wrapped around him. She brought him to her entrance, his leaking tip pressing just there. He lowered his head and kissed her.

“You’re giving me more than I deserve.” 

Then he slammed hard inside. 

He growled her name as she cried out his. 

She was an open flame.

_Nothing had ever felt like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all but we're going back to how it began with Jaime and Brienne, as well as the early days. I had to establish the final straw for Brienne, the first time they bang, etc. I think for about five or six chapters, we'll be in the past then maybe the next three or four would have them back in the present. Part 8 is probably the longest in the series.
> 
> If I go with my original plan, we're looking between ten to twelve chapters here. There are scenes/chapters that I decided not to upload anymore because they didn't really contribute to the story (one of them is Jaime with some random chick fucking so I went with the version--Chapter 2--where his involvement with other women is covered in just a few lines, for example). 
> 
> Brienne isn't completely clueless about sex of course but being with only one man, there's a lot she doesn't know yet. So she's never really played around, tested out what she liked or didn't. Her own body is a stranger to her.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the comments! I love them.


	4. Drawn to Your Light

Jaime’s eyes closed from the unbelievable pleasure radiating from the joining of their bodies. Brienne’s legs tight around his waist, her cunt the warmest and softest place, the warmest and softest, period, her sharp gasps. Her fist-tight cunt. He chanted her name, head falling back briefly before it fell forward. His eyes opened and he gloried in the rapture in her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. She was gripped by lust.

Nothing had ever felt like this.

He grabbed her wrists and swept them over her head, drawing her body in a graceful, sharp arch. As her dark blue eyes flew open in surprise, he smirked and changed the angle of his hips. His thrusts deepened. Her eyes eyes rolled back.

_“Jaime.”_

Gods, but he wished his name was all she would say forever. It was the sexiest, most perfect word from her lips.

The time for sweet joining was over. He wanted to fuck her, fuck her so hard she would be stiff and sore for days, curse him yet feel wrong without his cock big and deep in her cunt. Jaime pulled out of her, leaving only his cockhead. As she protested, he hissed and pummeled back inside. 

Her cry filled the shop.

He fucked her without mercy, powered by the sweat gleaming on her forehead, her red face. Her little breasts jiggled with his hard thrusts. Their sweat had mingled and pooled right where they were joined, creating the most obscene, wet sounds. Brienne grunted, baring her throat so he sank his teeth there, sucking at the warm flesh. Her cunt walls was a torturous, hot clamp around his cock as she came, her body surging up hard. If he wasn’t strong enough to keep her under him, he would have been thrown off. 

_“Wench,”_ he hissed as he fought against her and threw her down. She shouted, but not in pain.

He could come now. The gods knew his cock had pushed him enough but he didn’t want this to end. As he continued his punishing, rapid pace, Brienne started whimpering. Her eyes implored him to slow down, her fingers squeezing and pinching his shoulders begged him to give it to her easy but no. Her body, limp from her orgasm, was soon moving against him again, her eyes big with shock as she realized what was about to happen. “Yes, that’s it,” he muttered as his fingers lowered to her clit again.  
“Jaime. Jaime, what—“ she whimpered, trying to free her arms from his arm. 

“Trust me.”

Then he plucked at her clit, stroking it to a painful stiffness that pulled sobs from her. He bent to tongue her nipple briefly right before he reached the end of the line. Keeping his fingers on her clit, he flung her to another orgasm and she flew, beautifully. Gods. Jaime gave a final, hard thrust before spilling inside her convulsing cunt. The walls sucked his cock greedily. Wondering whether her mouth would be as good dragged another load from him and he groaned, slumping between her breasts shiny with sweat. 

Panting loudly and roughly above him that it ruffled his damp hair, she gasped, “Wow.” 

All he could manage was a breathless chuckle and weak huff. “Yeah.”

He could rest here, on her, the whole night. For a long time. Though still riding high on what was the best sex of his life, he stopped himself from thinking of anything past this night or the next. He listened to the still-frantic beating of her heart, the truest music. She said she wanted to give more than this night but Jaime had been down this road before. When would be the next? Will there really be a next? That very strong possibility cooled his mind still fevered from Brienne’s uninhibited, startled responses, the sapphire hues clouding his mind.

But he didn’t leave her arms. When they rose to hold him and her fingers combed through his hair with the softness of a rare summer breeze, he nuzzled closer. His cock had softened but remained inside her. He turned his head and pressed his tongue on a pouting, dark pink nipple. She inhaled as if about to plunge into an unfathomable sea.

Jaime enjoyed fucking and was loathed to admit that until Brienne, only enjoyed it with his aunt. Fucking Brienne was akin to uncovering one box after another of unexpected delights and treats. Her sapphire eyes getting huge. The stuttering breaths from her swollen lips. Gods, her lips. Full, thick, with a wide mouth that could give the gentlest and headiest kisses. 

Still kissing and sucking her nipple, he slowly heaved himself up. His hips settled firmly once again between her sticky thighs. How could he want to leave this? He thought, giving the swollen tip a final kiss before pushing himself up. Sleepy blue eyes stared up at him from a face that had become so dear to him in the last two years. Jaime lowered his head and drank from her mouth.

Fucking Brienne had taken a lot out of him but he was hard once again and was desperate for more of her grunts, the hot, merciless grip of her cunt. “My wench,” he whispered between licks and kisses as he pumped into her. His thrusts were hard slaps of sweaty skin on sweaty skin, bone against bone. His buttocks flexed as he plunged into her, stirred by her whimpers and gasps warming bathing his tongue. He groaned throatily, his head once again sunk in fever. The soles of her feet, roughened and made dusty by her walk, flattened on his buttocks. Gods, but she was a powerful wench.

Jaime snuck his arms under her waist and hip then rolled smoothly on his back. “Wha--?” Brienne stuttered as she suddenly found herself atop him. 

She was fucking adorable looking surprised and confused. There was a softness in her face he had not seen before. It was gratifying thinking he had been responsible for that. He kissed and licked the freckles on her cheeks, her nose, her chin before biting her thick, pillowy lip.

“Fuck me,” he whispered loudly. His smile was affectionate as he touched her firm arms before licking the freckles there too. A constellation of red stars in an ivory expanse. She hummed and he tasted the vibration reverberating from her freckled throat.

“Really?” She asked.

He squeezed her firm hip and as a form of an answer, rolled his own gently. Her head fell back at the sunburst of pleasure in her cunt. I did that, he thought.  
She smiled and sat up. Jaime then knew that while he would never regret Brienne riding him despite the bruises he was going to collect, he didn’t think he would survive seeing her like this: proud yet with the smile of an angel, sky in her eyes, straw-blond hair tangled worse than a bird’s nest. He couldn’t resist running his palm between her small breasts, marveling at the wild splash of freckles spanning all the way to her stomach. Her waist was straight and thick, boyish, and surprisingly ridged with muscle. There was nothing feminine about her body but the response she awakened in him was all man. Yes, he thought, gazing at the wild tumble of curls below her navel, an intriguing mix of pale and dark blond hairs. 

His hands fell on her broad hips and she sighed. Her spine curved up, as if offering her wondrous body to the gods. 

“Do what you want with me, Brienne.”

As she moved, hesitantly, uncertainly, she turned those breathtaking blues on him. “What do you want me to do?”

He grinned. “What do you want me to do, wench?”

A fiery blush exploded throughout her face, delighting him even more. Her mouth fell open as he hardened inside her. “J-Jaime,” she whimpered.

“Do you want me to keep touching you?”

She nodded wordlessly and resumed her movements. Too slow. But good. His cock was still getting hard. He tightened his grip on her hips.

“Any preference,” he breathed, “for where my hands should be, wench?”

Blushing again, she nodded.

“Tell me.” Then he shook his head. “Show me?”

And then she surprised him. At the back of Jaime’s mind, he wondered just how much Oberyn Martell really knew about fucking for Brienne to be so surprised at the things he was encouraging her to do. He watched, smiling in anticipation as she put his hands on her breasts. “Fuck, yes,” he grunted, cupping the gentle mounds, thumbing her nipples. Goosebumps trailed after his touch and sharpened when he returned to the tips. 

“Oh, yes, Jaime,” she whispered, her hips picking up pace.

“Brienne,” he gasped, closing his eyes at the pleasure.

He was so hard that the pain was making him shake and artless in touching her. Her hands slipped down to her legs before gripping her ankles. She leaned back and opened herself even more, giving Jaime one hell of a show. He could die with her dilated gaze and swollen, panting mouth, the sweat between her jiggling breasts dripping to her stomach, her cunt open like a rose approaching full bloom, as the last things he would see from this earth. Her cries were getting wild, wilder than the last time and there was only so much that his cock could take. He dropped his other hand and shoved the fingers toward her cunt, easily finding the hard nub of her clit. 

Brienne shrieked so loudly it would rouse the dead buried in the bowels of the earth.

“With me, wench,” he started chanting, stroking her clit, fucking her with roughly from under. Her cunt was going to kill him.“With me, with me. _Gods, come. . ._ ”

She threw her scream to the ceiling as she came and he only managed one and a half strokes before he fountained up in her. She flew forward, her eyes blinking rapidly before she raked her nails down his chest and fell there. He let out a long, groaning breath as her cunt walls drained the last of his cock before his arms slid limply to the sides.

They just lay there, sweating so much, panting and more tired. They were going to be sore for the rest of the day, he thought happily, not doing anything to remove her hair tickling his nose. 

Brienne, her hot face still on his chest, said after a while, “I like being on top.”

“You’ll enjoy killing me, wouldn’t you?” He retorted.

She leaned up on an elbow. She was so pink. “I’d love to try.”

They smiled at each other and then, inexplicably, started laughing.

 

Much as they would like to lay there longer, the table would never be comfortable and the leather couch in his office unpleasant to their sweat-slicked skins. Jaime threw her dress at her, laughing as it hit her right in the face. Brienne retaliated by decking him on the head with his sneaker. 

She was still shoeless and the ground was cool and damp from the rain. The sky was indigo still splotched with gray, indicating that the sun would be peeking out shortly. Jaime looked at Brienne standing there, looking at the sky as he locked up. 

Often, he saw her as tall and formidable. She was still that, even in a dress zipped only halfway up, her feet still streaked with dirt. But there was something. . .heartbreaking about her now. Yes. That was the word for it. The sight of her both moved and destroyed him. When she turned to meet his gaze, he saw a dimness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since she lost her daughter.

Pulled once again to touch her, to protect her from pain, he pulled her to his chest. His kiss was an airy brush on her lips, sweet but yearning. She kissed him back just as gently, surprising him with her light nip. He drew her head down so he could brush his lips against her closed eyelids. Her eyelashes tickled.

She put her arms around his waist as he pulled back but still touching her face.

“Hungry, wench?” 

She rolled her eyes. “You got my name right a while ago.”

Close like this, smelling himself on her skin, got him hard. He pressed himself against her thigh and she reddened.

“I may need reminding how I did that.” He licked her lips. _“Wench.”_

He saw her struggling not to smile. He could hold her just like this. He didn’t need more than a night. He would take her in sunlight, if she wanted.

“I am a little hungry,” she admitted. She glanced at her feet. “I also need shoes.”

She had long toes and big, round toenails. No polish. He liked that.

“You can borrow mine. We look to be the same size. Also clothes,” he added, looking at her. “If you want.” His voice was of exaggerated innocence. She snorted.

He led her to the stairs toward his apartment. He was no less stiff and tired yet he somehow had the energy to power through the climb. 

As Jaime unlocked the door, it crossed his mind that no woman had set foot in his place. No woman except Brienne. But did the first time count? She needed help so he gave it. This time she needed only shoes and food. 

He had never been with a woman the morning after.

He had spent weekends with Cersei in faraway places, mostly secret bed-and-breakfasts or cottages cut off from civilization. They had fucking marathons, hardly getting any sleep. They fucked to make up for lost time and fucked even more to hold them over until the next time. There was no question that he wanted to tumble Brienne into bed and push his cock inside her again. It was a tempting thought but he wanted something else besides fucking. He wanted more.

He pushed the door open and she followed him. She looked rumpled and, well, as if she’d been fucking the night away. He took her hand and pulled her after him.  
“Nothing’s changed since you were last here. Bathroom is still over there,” he said, pointing. “My bedroom is right across.” His place didn’t have partitions except for the bathroom and the kitchen. In lieu of walls, he used bookshelves to divide the place into sections.

She smiled at him tiredly. “I won’t be long.”

“No, take as much time you need,” he said. Gods knew he needed to process what happened. 

She kissed him and he had to struggle not to be very hopeful He watched her go before he turned away and went to the kitchen.

He had three eggs in the fridge, a pepper, onions. He cooked the vegetables first before pouring the beaten eggs into the non-stick pan. He didn’t hold back on the spices.  
As he waited for the omelet to cook, he made coffee. 

Jaime was setting the table when Brienne padded to the kitchen. The sun was up and it fell in wide beams in the apartment. In the light, her eyes were the bluest he had ever seen, her skin flushed a healthy pink. All the way to her legs, he saw, grinning appreciatively. Brienne was wearing one of his old plaid shirts. She was taller and broader so it ended just below her hips. She was wearing black boxers.

“Jaime,” she cleared his throat. “Can I—Can I stay for the day?”

His response was out before he could stop himself. “

“Why only for a day?”

_Fuck._

She bit her lip.

“Before we sit down to eat, there’s something else I should say,” she began but he shook his head.

“Please don’t. I-Let’s not ruin what we had.”

“Oh.” Brienne looked at her hands. “Is it had already?”

“I don’t expect more from you.”

“I meant it,” she looked at him. “I want more than a night, Jaime. But if it’s not what you want, let’s forget it.”

“I don’t want just one night either.” He admitted. “But I know how it goes. You’re married. And you’re grieving. You don’t regret this now. But you will.”

“Don’t presume to know how I think.” She told him. “Yes, I am married. But I don’t love Oberyn anymore. I did tell him just now where I am so he won’t worry. I don’t love him but I’m not. . .inconsiderate.” As she spoke, she wrung her hands together, betraying her anxiety. “I am grieving, yes. But I didn’t ask you to fuck me only because of that. I asked because I wanted you to. I thought. . .I thought you also—“

She brought a fist to her eyes and he saw the tears.

“I can _never_ regret anything with you, Jaime.” 

She gasped when he suddenly grabbed her and planted his mouth on her trembling lips. She kissed him back and he swallowed her hard sobs and soft moans, tasted her tears. Her heart was beating so fast and hard he could feel it persistent pressure against his chest. 

“We can never go back to how things were, Brienne,” he said, his fingers in her hair, prompting her to look at him. “I’m not asking you to leave your husband but you have to know that after what we’ve done. . .there’s no turning back.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Brienne shook her head childishly but her voice was fierce. “You’re not there. I want you. To be with you—“ he cut her off with another heated kiss, his tongue pushing deep in her mouth. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and he pushed her against one of the bookcases. The impact of their bodies hitting it dislodged some books and one hit Jaime on the head. He continued kissing her. She cupped the back of his head, lightly caressing the growing dragon’s egg bump.

With every kiss, he told her his most secret wish, the words he dared not say now, probably never. Kissing would have to do. Fucking her. Being with her for as long as she needed him. 

As he kissed her chin, her throat, pulled open the shirt far enough to bare the freckles on her shoulder, she started whispering, murmuring. He was too immersed in their kiss, in the solid and warm feel of her to catch her words. When he paused for breath, she continued talking, her touch feather-light on his face.

“I choose you, Jaime.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. 

Cersei had needed him. The other women desired him.

Brienne chose him.

“My wench,” he whispered and she smirked.

“Idiot,” she whispered back.

He kissed her again then reluctantly pulled away. “Let’s put some food in you. I saw you didn’t eat anything last night. Bet you could eat a horse, eh?”

“Are you serving horse sausage?” She said as they walked hand in hand to the kitchen.

“Omelet only, I’m afraid.” He kissed her on the cheek. “But I’ve got another sausage that I can serve later?”

She made a face and he laughed. He cradled her face in his palms and kissed her again. And again. 

And again.

Seven Hells, it was so good to kiss her. Those lips. _That mouth._

Their tongues were warring each other and their hands tucked under the other’s clothes when the door began to open. Jaime yanked down the boxers down to her thighs so he could seize her bottom and rub his erection against her cunt—he was still cruelly confined in jeans. Brienne tugged his t-shirt over his head. He smiled at her before she bit his lip. Her blue eyes sparkled mischievously as she released the slick flesh with a loud pop.

“Sorry to interrupt,” rang the stunned voice of Tyrion Lannister, “but usually my brother waits for me before he starts on breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion doesn't find out about them until later. We're in for some light moments in the next chapter, with still some angst.


	5. We Bring the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter takes place a few weeks after Chapter 6: Bittersweet in Part 7.

The Present Day

Tyrion’s steps quieted as he approached the lone door at the top of the stairs. He pressed his ear against it, listening. A second passed, two, three and then. . .

A moan. A grunt. He smirked and gave the lovers a full minute before knocking on the door.

After the first time Tyrion walked in on his brother just about to fuck Brienne, he had quickly turned over his keys to the apartment without being asked. Pissing off Jaime was always great fun but the dark, dangerous look he gave Tyrion was more than enough warning that a repeat of the mistake would not be appreciated. 

Tyrion knew it wasn’t his fault but let it slide. There were problems bigger than catching his brother and his married lover with her pants down.

Tyrion liked Brienne as Jaime’s friend. She was funny and intelligent, unimpressed with the Lannister name and wealth, but perhaps most important of all, she gave Jaime the opportunity to have a healthy relationship with the opposite sex. Tyrion would never forgive Cersei for what she’d done. That didn’t mean he accepted Jaime and Brienne’s relationship easily. Brienne made him happy, that couldn’t be denied, but she was still married and Jaime, having clearly lost his head, was in for another heartbreak, a lot worse than the last. Tyrion just didn’t have the energy to get his brother all right and okay again.

He had been shocked and horrified when Jaime revealed his long-standing affair with their aunt. There was just nothing right about it, no matter how much Jaime was convinced of their love. Tyrion loathed Cersei for the way she had always treated him. He could write a book on the countless stares of disgust and pure hate she had given him since he was a child. She had always been a sick, hateful woman ever since she told him that he was clearly not Tywin’s son, that dying was the smartest thing Joanna had done because Tywin would definitely kill her for her betrayal. Tyrion had been a child of ten when Cersei sneered at him these lies.  
Finding out that Cersei had sexually abused and skewed Jaime’s perception on love and relationships had marked her in the worst possible way in Tyrion’s eyes and he just waited for the day she got exactly what she deserved. The gods seemed to be taking their sweet time because Jaime had once again gotten himself in another, to put it mildly, inappropriate relationship.

“I love her,” was Jaime’s quiet, barely-discernible response when Tyrion confronted him about Brienne that morning ten months ago. Brienne, to her credit, had practically run out, stammering some pathetic excuse about having to leave.

“You’re a fucking fool,” Tyrion snapped. _Did he not remember?_. After finding out about Cersei, Jaime had sunk into the deepest hell hell that even Tyrion, for all his love and concern, could not reach him. Jaime turned away from the family, let his license expire, turned his depression to drugs and women to forget. Cersei was gone but her betrayal had cut deeper than Tyrion realized. He remembered too well going to Jaime’s old apartment and finding him passed out and barely breathing on the bathroom floor. Never had Tyrion felt so helpless, crying angry, desperate tears as he called 911. 

“I don’t care if her husband abuses her,” Tyrion told Jaime. “She’s married and you’re fucking yourself in the ass by being with her.”

Jaime turned his eyes to his brother and said, still quietly but with more certainty, _“I love her.”_

There was nothing Tyrion could do but watch his brother get on this train wreck.

He kept his expression placid and casual as the door swept open. Jaime looked tired but his smile was welcoming.  
“Finally. You took your time, you little runt.”

Tyrion looked pointedly at some missing buttons on his shirt and his mussed hair. “I thought you’d thank me for it,” he retorted, entering the apartment. Brienne was in the kitchen, looking a lot more mussed and redder than usual. She was putting what appeared to be snacks on the tray. “Brienne, hello.”

It was almost sweet how relieved she looked at his acknowledgement. This was why as much as Tyrion disapproved of what she was doing with Jaime, he couldn’t completely hate her. Brienne knew she was in the wrong. She knew what this relationship was doing to Jaime. Tyrion’s grudging respect for her grew steadily from the moment she left Oberyn, told him to check on her husband’s financial records and gave him the go-ahead to report him, threw in Cersei’s face the words Tyrion himself had been longing to tell her for years, and fighting relentlessly to be with Jaime. He thought their living together while she was still going through divorce was stupid but it was clear the love and commitment wasn’t one-sided. Tyrion hoped he wasn’t wrong about her.

“Hi, Tyrion. Why don’t you sit down while I finish this,” she said, smiling at him. 

“Why don’t I,” Jaime said, going to her and taking the tray, “do this and you go sit with my brother.” As Tyrion made himself comfortable on the couch, he pretended not to notice Jaime’s hand sneaking under her shirt momentarily as well as giving her a kiss that was too bold before an audience. 

Tyrion patted the space next to him on the couch and Brienne sat down, lowering a pot of coffee and two cups on the table. She looked tire too, even a little pale, but he thought there was something. . .peaceful, yes, that was the word for it, something peaceful about her demeanor. A kind contentment. The shafts of light entering through the bay windows cocooned her almost protectively. Jaime had clearly been fucking her just before Tyrion arrived—it explained the messy hair, the sleepy, languid look, the pink-red scrape of Jaime's beard on her neck, the scent of his aftershave on her. Despite looking thoroughly ravaged, in the light, Tyrion thought Brienne looked almost beautiful.

Jaime joined them a moment later, putting the tray beside the coffee. There was a plate of cookies and what appeared to be home-baked brownies, sugar, cream, and a cup of tea. It was so proper and domestic, something a couple would do. A married couple. Jaime leaned back and propped his arm at the back of the couch and Brienne made herself comfortable in the circle he made. She rested an elbow on his knee. They looked comfortable and happy. The scene was so fucking domestic it was disconcerting.

“You look well,” Tyrion remarked, clearing his throat. He glanced at the pastries on the tray. “And that looks delicious.”

Jaime kissed Brienne’s shoulder. “She made it,” he announced proudly as she blushed. “She put pecans in the brownies.”

“I’ll be sure to try some later.” Tyrion answered, giving Brienne a small smile. “I assume you asked me over for an update?”

“Is Oberyn going to be arrested?” Brienne aked. Tyrion had to hand it to her. She got right to the point.

“He will be. Any day.” Tyrion promised. “Has he threatened to hang any of us?”

Brienne looked at Jaime and lowered her eyes. Jaime shifted closer and seemed to hold her as if to keep her from breaking.

“We’re in a shit situation,” he began. “And it’s gotten more complicated.”

“How? Why?” Tyrion couldn’t hide his distress. “What’s happened now? Does he have photos of Tywin in drag? Kevan? Lancel with coke?” 

“It’s not bad at all,” Brienne hastened to say. She glanced at Jaime again then at Tyrion. “But yes, it’s complicated.”

“She’s pregnant.” Jaime said. His voice hung between joy and grim, and he was conflicted with what he really felt versus how he should be. 

Tyrion looked at Brienne’s breasts—they were at his eye level—then her stomach. Her shirt was loose so he couldn’t tell.

“How long?”

“According to the doctor, I’ll be eight weeks next week,” she said, a large, freckled hand on her stomach.

“A baby is always happy news in spite of things,” Tyrion said, hoping he sounded at least half as convincing as the words. “And yes, it makes things complicated but surely Oberyn will get his head out of his sorry ass and agree to the divorce now?”

“Um, we’re not,” Brienne sighed and stammered, “we’re not. . .we’re not sure.”

“Not sure he’ll divorce? What, is he going to say the baby is his?”

“It could be.” Jaime replied. Brienne took his hand and brushed her lips there.

Tyrion glared at Brienne. She paled and Jaime, seeing his look, said, “We had the doctor determine the date of conception. It was the day Brienne and I had sex and Oberyn sexually assaulted her.”

“I’m sorry but Oberyn sexually assaulted you?” Tyrion howled. “Why is that son of a bitch walking free? Why didn’t you fucking report him?”

“Who would believe me?” Brienne demanded.

“Spousal abuse is a real thing,” Tyrion pointed out.

Jaime put a placating hand around Brienne’s stomach, as if signaling her to calm down. “It happened and we are trying to move forward as best as we can. We asked you here to advise us.”

“Advise you about what? How to make your lives more difficult?” Tyrion shot back. His mismatched eyes rolled disbelievingly at yet another impossible situation they found themselves in. He was so frustrated he wanted to kick a hole through a wall. “You really do deserve each other. You’re fucking masochists, that’s your problem.”

“Telling us that we fucked up is not helping,” Brienne growled, startling him. “And if you make the mistake of suggesting we terminate the pregnancy I’ll drown you myself.”

“No. Brienne, he won’t do that.” Jaime pulled her back and locked his arms around her waist. His jaw was tight with tension as he looked at Tyrion. “Right?”

“N-No.” Tyrion shook his head. “I’d never do that. It would make things easier but never.”

“Good.” The expression on Jaime’s face reminded him of Tywin just before he pronounced a death sentence. “Because I won’t stop her if you do.” 

They would really stand by each other, Tyrion realized now. They were unbreakable.

“We asked you here as family,” he continued. “I know we should go to Ned right away but you’re the one we need first.”

“How do you need me?” Tyrion asked.

“What are we in for?” Brienne asked. “What can we do?”

“The child? You have to tell Ned. Everything.” Tyrion said. “But do not tell Oberyn. Have it done by Ned during one of your meetings. Oberyn is aware of what he did?”

Brienne nodded.

“Wait for him to put two and two together. Tell Ned about the date of conception and the possibility but instruct him for Oberyn to figure it out himself. Have him make the demand.”

Brienne exchanged a helpless look with Jaime. He squeezed her hand as she turned back to Tyrion.  
“Why?”

“Because if you offer to have a test conducted to determine who the father is, he might think he still has a chance to get you back. If the gods are kind the test will reveal Jaime’s the father and not him.” 

“I _am_ the father,” Jaime declared. “Even if Oberyn is the biological father it’s _my_ child and Brienne’s.”

“You’re a romantic, brother. But if it turns out to be Oberyn’s he will demand joint custody. Among other things.” Tyrion said to Brienne, giving her a significant look. “It’s the best you can hope for. He won’t hesitate to paint you as unstable if he goes through with the threat about Cersei’s children. There’s not a chance in seven hells he won’t paint you as far from the ideal parent for the child. You also earn less than him. He has a case with the internal revenue services but until he hasn’t been arrested and charged, the court will most likely approve sole custody. To him. If he does any or all the scenarios I outlined.”

“Why is it taking forever to arrest him? Don’t you know somebody who can speed it up?’ Jaime demanded.

“I’d rather we use our Lannister sources for when we must, shall we?” 

“Lannister sources,” Jaime scoffed. “Father won’t back us. Nor do I want him to.”

“He won’t,” Tyrion agreed. “Unless that’s a Lannister in your belly, Brienne.”

“We also talked about the methods of determining the paternity,” Brienne told him. “I’m not going to go through an amnio. I won’t harm my child. The test will be done when it's born.”

“There are other non-invasive, safe ways. And you should only do if the judge orders it. Don’t initiate it. Again, we don’t want Oberyn thinking you’re having doubts about leaving him.”

“Lannister or not I don’t want Tywin doing anything for us,” Jaime said stubbornly. “He insulted Brienne.”

“Now’s not the time to be chivalrous, brother. Your resources are limited and there’s only so much I can do. You need the Lannisters to back you up. Oberyn is determined to drag this on because he has money for now.” Tyrion told him calmly. “There’s something else. It’s good you asked me to come because I just found out something. A possible leak.”

“More bugging devices?” Brienne gasped, looking alarmed.

“No. Nothing like that. But just as bad.” Tyrion said. “This is just speculation but it’s very reasonable. I found out only because I thought to look at his client roster.”

“What? Whose client roster?” Jaime asked.

“Are either of you aware that Petyr Baelish is also Aunt Cersei’s accountant?” 

 

 

The smirking, sour expression Cersei had been wearing a lot lately melted into a smile of pure joy when she spotted a familiar figure exiting a cab. She hurried out of the car, muttering to the chauffeur to take her shopping bags upstairs. Her heels tapped delicately on the pavement as she picked up the pace and called out, “Tyrek, sweetheart, is that you?”

Tyrek Umber turned around and a huge grin split across his handsome face. Dropping his bag on the ground, he swept his mother in his arms. Cersei kissed him on the cheek and stepped back, feeling so proud and happy.  
Tyrek had the classic, chiseled Lannister features. He was twenty years old and a sophomore in college. Tall, handsome, rich and charming, he was one of the most sought-after bachelors in town. Cersei’s emerald eyes softened as she touched him on the cheek, overcome by a rush of love for her son.

“So good to see you, Mom,” Tyrek said. “Sorry I didn’t call first but I just had to leave the dorm. Midterms are coming and I need to focus.”

“By all means stay as long as you like,” Cersei said, running her palms up and down his broad arms before pulling him in again for a hug. “I missed you, my baby boy.”

“Yeah, not so loud, Mom,” Tyrek teased her. She giggled, gave him another hug and together, they entered the elegant, three-story townhouse. Cersei drank in the sight of the son she had not seen for months, ignoring the greetings by the butler and the other servants. She smirked as Tyrek acknowledged them and even engaged in some light bantering before turning his attention back to her.

“Where’s Selyne?” Tyrek asked. 

Cersei resisted rolling her eyes. “Probably in the library or in some café infecting the customers with her performance poetry.” 

Mother and daughter had been clashing lately. At fifteen, Selyne was turning out to be quite the hellion. She was bold and brash, reckless, outspoken, in-your-face—an impossible child. There were times when she reminded Cersei of Jaime, sometimes, even Tyrion, with the mouth she had. Nevertheless, it hurt when Selyne announced she would much rather be with her father. Of course she would. Jon let the children run amok. At least the discipline of boarding school had shaved off the rebellious streak Tyrek used to display too but not Selyne. She had been kicked out of four schools in the last three years. Though clearly intelligent, she was lazy and unmotivated with academics but not extra-curricular activities. Beautiful, rich and uncontrollable, Selyne Umber’s name had made it to the dailies at least a couple of times. Tywin had lectured Cersei too many times to count about the humiliation Selyne was subjecting the Lannister name to.

“Hey, she’s really good at those, don’t you know?” Tyrek told her. Brother and sister were close.

“I thought I heard you!” Selyne shrieked from the top of the curving stairs. Tyrek looked up and grinned. Cersei pretended interest in the mail as her daughter ran down before bounding up into her brother’s arms.

“Oof, you’re getting heavy,” Tyrek complained, staggering. Selyne was lean but tall. She stood five-foot-eight inches already.

“Mean!” Selyne slapped him on the head then kissed him on the cheek. “I missed you, big brother.” 

She hugged him tightly, her emerald eyes flashing with sadness before being lowered to the ground. As she straightened up her clothes, she nodded at Cersei. “Mother.”

“Go to your room and freshen up,” Cersei told Tyrek. “We’ll have dinner in an hour.” She looked with disapproval at Selyne’s sweater and denim shorts. “You should also get dressed.”

Selyne looked about to protest but Tyrek smoothly took her by the arm and pulled her to the stairs. He was aware of the difficult relationship they had and would referee when around. She let the children go and shuffled to the living room. There, she had the cook change the menu to make Tyrek’s favourites.

Cersei glanced absently at the housekeeper and chauffeur brining her shopping bags inside. She gave the mail a last bored look before sauntering up to the second floor. This was the family area, consisting of living room and library. She sat down on a chaise lounge and flipped open a magazine. 

Halfway through her reading, the doorbell rang. She ignored it since somebody would answer the door anyway. As she flipped the page, she heard footsteps. The butler announced the name of her visitor.

Cersei smirked upon hearing the name. “Fine. Have him come up.”

She continued sitting down, reading the magazine as heavier footsteps approached a few seconds later. She glanced up, her expression bored. But she knew she looked beautiful. 

“What brings you here, Jaime?” She asked casually.

“I won’t be long.” Jaime answered curtly, remaining standing.

She looked at him assessingly. In a few years, Tyrek would resemble him. He even stood and carried himself the same way, with casual, lazy arrogance. Jaime too, would look like Gerion eventually. 

“Suit yourself. I’m a little pooped from my retail exertions,” she remarked. “What brings you here?Tyrek’s visiting. I know he’d love to see you. When I look at him, he reminds me of you.”

Jaime grimaced. “If that’s what you think.”

“You said you won’t be long. State your business and be done with it.” Unable to resist, she added, “I’m sure that great cow misses you.”

“Do not insult Brienne, you fucking slut.”

Cersei looked askance at the vehemence of his delivery. “What did you call me?”

“I know things. Things about you.” Jaime said. “I need to hear the truth from you.”

“You’re hardly in any position to call for favours given that you’ve just insulted me.”

“You insulted the woman I love. What did you expect?”

“She must be quite the fuck for you to wear that stupid expression on your face.” Cersei said in disgust. “What do you want?”

“How did Petyr Baelish know that Tyrek and Selyne are not Jon’s children?”


	6. Growing Strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Physical assault ahead. You can skip this section if it makes you uncomfortable.

As soon as the door of the study slammed behind them, Cersei slapped Jaime. Her hand was thin and small but Jaime swore his eyeballs popped out of their sockets at the impact of her palm on his face. He staggered, hitting a shelf, the wall. Face burning, he heaved himself up. 

Without missing a beat, he repaid the favour. As Cersei cried out in pain, cradling her cheek gently, he declared, “I’ve never hit a woman until you. I’d rather you don’t provoke me because I would never regret hurting you.”

Brienne wouldn’t approve, just as she hadn’t approved his decision to storm Cersei’s townhouse and demand the truth from her. 

Knowing that Oberyn may actually have evidence of their affair was more than a setback. The bravery Brienne had displayed in the last few meetings with Oberyn vanished at the heels of Tyrion’s revelation. She had looked frightened, her face pale, her lower lip trembling. “He’ll go after the children,” she said. “The children, Jaime. We can’t. . .if I continue. . .he’s going to hurt them.”

Jaime wanted to scream at how the world was always against them. Tyrion was still cautioning him. Tywin didn’t approve. He himself was scared that Brienne would listen to their voices and leave him one day. She was pregnant with another man’s child, possibly. All he wanted was to love and be with this woman freely. Why did it have to be so hard? Why was the world determined to keep them apart?

So against Tyrion and Brienne’s protests, he made the decision to confront Cersei. He had to know the truth right from the source, not a secondary one. He had never told his brother nor Brienne about what Gerion told him.

Green eyes blazed at him. “How dare you come to my home making the foulest accusations about my children?”

“Accusations?” Jaime echoed in disbelief. He had to hand it to her. Her indignation could land her an Academy Award. “Baelish somehow guessed your dirty little secret, aunt. And I know for a fact you’re lying because I also know the truth. I thought to at least give you the opportunity to come clean.”

“Why does it matter if they’re not Jon’s?” She demanded, dropping her hand from her cheek. Jaime’s face still hurt, as hers surely did. “What does it have to do with you?”  
“It matters because Baelish is good friends with Brienne’s husband, Oberyn Martell. And he has threatened to make their true parentage known if Brienne pursues the divorce. She will. You definitely pissed off Baelish but how did he know? Or did you also fuck him?” 

Cersei snarled and attacked him, her scarlet nails going for his face. Jaime dodged most of her blows and scratches but she managed to hit him again. As he had warned, he retaliated, shoving her toward the desk. Something heavy and made of glass shattered on the floor. Cersei turned around, hate brimming from eyes that he had always thought were a mirror to his. He held up his arms, indicating surrender but she continued glaring at him as she stomped behind the desk. 

Jaime didn’t know whether to laugh at the ridiculous chair she was sitting on. The top had a snarling lion’s engraved on it and on the arms were paws. It was padded with blood-red. He grew up listening to his aunt’s frustrations about being a mere shareholder in the Lannister empire instead of running it like Tywin and Kevan. Back then he saw it as ambition. Older now and seeing things a little clearly, he realized it was power she craved. All power, whether she knew how to use it well or not it did not matter, as long as it was hers. 

“I’m not here to berate you for failing to hide some receipt from one of our getaways,” Jaime told her. “But I need to hear the truth from you.”

“Why, Jaime? You wouldn’t see me for years and when you finally did it was to accuse me of sabotaging whatever the fuck you have with that ugly—“

 _“Careful.”_ He growled.

Cersei’s face curled and she threw a paperweight at him. Jaime ducked away just in time. “Fucking bloody hell!”

“I will say what I damn well please in my own home, you bastard!” She raged. “I should throw you out!”

“Do that and you lose the one chance that can salvage this situation.” Jaime was shaking but determined. 

“You know you can end this. Stop fucking that ugly whore—“

“Insult her one more time and not only will I leave but I will tell my father about Tyrek and Selyne. One more time, Aunt Cersei.” Jaime spat her name disdainfully. “Tell me the truth and I will ensure that whatever information Oberyn Martell has will never see the light of day.”

Cersei stared at him. There was still murder in her eyes and too many things close to her that she could easily throw and hurt him. Jaime stood his ground.

“And why would you do that? Only a few weeks ago you were sure that I was causing damage to your. . .relationship.” 

Jaime refused to tell her about the pregnancy. “Let’s just say there have been recent developments. Things that have led me right here. You don’t deserve protection, aunt, but your children do.”

“You think they need protecting?” Cersei said scornfully. “And you will protect them? _You?_ ”

“Not for you. I’m here for the children. I protect what’s mine.” Jaime approached the desk. “But I need for you to tell me the truth.”

“The truth is what I make it. I’m their mother. I made choices ensure them only the best life. Now you’re telling me that will be taken away because of that woman.”

Jaime wondered what tangled, snarled webs of lies and truths were in her head, to make her this delusional.

“Nobody forced you to fuck other men.”

“No? What about Roose Bolton? Rhaegar Targaryen? Jon Umber? Men I married because your father wished to make alliances with my body. That’s all I’m good for. Genna’s in the board, Kevan, Gerion, but me, because I’m beautiful, I’m only good for what’s between my legs. I’ve been forced to fuck men my entire life.”

“Nobody forced you to fuck me.”

Cersei smirked. “You were innocence. Like I used to be. It wasn’t fair.”

He should be horrified and hurt. He had loved and lived for this woman. He dreamed about being with her, wanted to be only with her. To be told at last her real reason for seducing him all the more confirmed how screwed up she was. 

“You know what everyone called you? The Golden Lannister. Golden Lion. You were fifteen and jacking off into pillows and you were regarded as the future of the family, our  
company. I was there. I could contribute in other ways but your father deemed I was only good for one thing, just like our father before him.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t make this about you. You got out of that marriage with Roose Bolton. You could have told my father to fuck off if he forced you on Rhaegar. Same thing with Jon. You agreed. You made the choice.” Jaime gestured to the door. “The children, aunt. Tell me the truth.”

“And what will you do if you know? Be their father?”

Jaime tensed. “So they’re mine?”

Cersei looked away. 

“For once will you see sense? Let me tell you what will happen if and when Oberyn Martell sees through his threat. It will become public. The world will know that your children are borne of incest. Anytime someone searches anything about the Lannisters online, that’s what they’ll know. Not the bullshit charities you chair, not your beauty, not Tyrion’s brilliance, not my good looks or Gerion’s latest conquest. Until the children die and their children and their children after them, people will know that their mother fucked—“

“Do not,” Cersei enunciated each syllable menacingly, “finish that sentence if you don’t want me to hurt you.” 

“I don’t care if you hurt me. But I won’t let Brienne suffer the consequences of your actions.”

“ _My_ actions? Really? My actions?” Cersei snarled. “You squirted in my cunt, you fool.”

Jaime flinched. “Oberyn is under the impression that they’re mine. So, are they?” He played his last card. “Shall we call Uncle Gerion?”

At that, Cersei shot to her feet. “What has he been telling you?”

“The truth.” Jaime swept his eyes at her disdainfully. “You are one sick bitch.”

“Legacy,” Cersei spat. “That’s all your fucking father talks about. The legacy of the Lannisters for thousands and thousands of years. I did my duty. I ensured there are more Lannisters.” Her tone was sarcastic and flippant. “You can’t say I failed. That’s the truth as I see it.”

“Did you not hear one word I said? Oberyn Martell—“

“That man has nothing. And even if he does, who’s going to believe him?”

“Jon Umber wasn’t exactly happy with the terms of your divorce. He will tear you into pieces for screwing him. You’ll drag other Lannisters because you spread your legs for your twin brother.”

When Cersei’s eyes flashed, Jaime nodded. “So Uncle Gerion was telling the truth? While you were professing you loved me and making a fucking fool out of me, you were also fucking your brother and other men.”

“I fucked my brother because it felt good.” Cersei answered, sounding dreamy. “I fucked you because it felt good. If telling you I loved you kept your cock in me, why should I stop? I do things that make me feel good. Otherwise why do them at all? And for that reason, my dear, sweet Jaime, I fucked other men.” She relished the word fuck as if it was the sweetest, richest candy. A smile stretched her lips but did not reach her eyes. “I’m only good on my back, apparently. I was simply doing my best not to disappoint.”  
Jaime felt ill.

Cersei tilted her head playfully, mockingly, as she regarded Jaime’s crestfallen face. “Tyrek is surely Gerion’s. Jon only fucked me once during that time. He was drunk. Couldn’t get it up and when he did he came all over my dress. I saw you a few weeks after but I was already pregnant by then.” She laughed. “It’s funny how if you just tell the nearest man how much you need him, you turn on the tears and lean on him, he’ll do _whatever you want._ You did. Gerion did.” As Jaime’s eyes darkened with anger, she went on. “Gerion was horrified but that didn’t stop him from coming back for more. Selyne, that I’m not sure about. I was still fucking my brother. And you. And Jon. Other men too, including yes, Petyr Baelish. Out of all the others, he stuck around until recently.” She rolled her eyes. “The foo was under the illusion that we were in love. I confess I took great joy breaking his heart. Seeing the light vanish from his eyes. Hearing him beg.” She laughed, a cruel sound. “But as you’ve seen Selyne, she’s all Lannister. So she might be yours. Or also Gerion’s. Tywin demanded I do my part in ensuring the Lannister legacy so that’s what I did. More Lannisters. No Umbers. Now, tell me. What will your whore do now that one of my children is possibly yours?”

“You shouldn’t worry about us.” Jaime managed to say. “I told you that if you insult Brienne one more time you lose the one chance of protection from Oberyn Martell. Goodbye, Aunt Cersei.”

 

Brienne was in bed when she heard the door opening. Relieved, she threw the book she was struggling to read on the bed and hurried to the living room. She stood by one of the bookcases as Jaime locked up, his movements slow and tired. When he turned around, she saw a man who had lost everything. She frowned at the purpling imprint of fingers on his cheek and he shook his head. 

She ran and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back fiercely.

“You took so long,” she whispered, kissing his hair. He smelled of sweat and the faint, dark stink of cigarettes. “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulled her away a bit so he could claim her mouth. She stiffened as the thick taste of cigarettes and beer hit her ring on the tongue but she didn’t loosen her hold on him. As disgusting as he smelled and tasted, she couldn’t begrudge him for turning to them first instead of her. His lips roamed her cheek, her chin, down her throat before brushing back to her lips and kissing her deeply. She kissed him back just as hard. His arms lowered to her waist, cupped her hips to grind her against him. He was hard. Very hard.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he said, holding her by the nape. He looked so defeated.

“Over here.” She pulled him behind her and led him to the couch. Jaime sank heavily on it, sighing deeply. He rested his head against it and closed his eyes. Brienne took one of the throw pillows and dropped them at his feet before kneeling on it. Jaime opened his eyes.

Confused, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Whatever it is you have to say to me, you clearly don’t want me to know, which gives me a good idea on what it is.” She said, pushing his shirt out of the way and caressing the golden line of hair from his navel that led down to his cock. Her shaking hands unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans and started shimmying them down. Jaime, surprisingly, didn’t lift his hips to assist her. She turned her grave blue eyes on him. 

“We’re both worried and angry, we’re a lot of bad things right this very moment. We need a break. You, especially.” She tugged hard at his jeans and when Jaime remained immobile, she begged, her voice husky and broken, “Jaime, please. If we don’t I’m so scared that we’ll say things to each other and one of us might walk out that door for good.”

Jaime, flushed but still looking puzzled, demanded, “And what, you think blowing me is the solution?”

“Like I said. We both need a break. I’ve been worried all night and your breath can fell horses. The gods only know what you taste like now. Help me with this.”

Still looking unconvinced, Jaime lifted his hips. She yanked his jeans down. His boots were in the way so she pulled them off and continued removing his jeans. 

“I’d rather fuck you,” he whispered, stiffening then groaning as she ran her palms up and down his hard, corded, thighs, loving the tickling golden curls there. 

“I’m not in the mood to fuck.” She told him, leaning forward until her breath stirred the hairs surrounding his cock. “But I want _this._ ”

Another groan was pulled from Jaime’s throat as Brienne’s lips closed around the head of his cock. He was saltier and also stank of cigarettes down here but she was too intent with her need to be bothered by it. Her tongue swirled around the round tip, spreading the moisture hanging at it end. Above, Jaime had his head thrown back, one groan after the next coming from him. She moaned and his cock hardened against her lips. Blindly, his hands reached for her, grabbing her shoulders, fingers sliding through her messy hair.

She watched his eyes fall closed and his slim lips parting open. The hard bobbing of his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed was a tempting target for her lips and tongue but she liked where they were at the moment. As she licked and placed delicate kisses up and down his cock, she fondled his heavy balls They hung tight. Jaime grunted her name as she guided her finger to a spot just below, under them, stroking it. They needed this, both for release and to just forget what lay before them just for a little while. When she leaned down to take one of his balls in her mouth, Jaime’s hips arched off the couch and his fingers, having been buried in her hair from the beginning, clutched painfully. She pinched him on the thigh and he sighed, loosening his hold. She kissed and sucked his balls, the sounds from her lips wet and lewd.

“Sorry. Fuck, Brienne. Gods. _Wench._ ” He growled. "Gods. Brienne. _Brienne._ " 

Then he was suddenly grabbing her up, toward his lips. She wrapped her hand around his cock as she let him press his mouth on hers, his tongue licking the dark layer of his flavour from her own. He was shaking under her as they kissed and she continued rubbing his cock vigorously. He whined as she ripped her mouth away from his deepening kiss, placating him with a wet trail of her tongue down his throat, his heart, his navel before once again kneeling between his thighs. She tongued and kissed his cock, unaware that his eyes had opened and the sight of her thick, swollen lips closing around his erection was making him so hard the pain was unholy. Her attention was all on his cock. Long, smooth and thick, it was beautiful like the rest of him. It was the most elegant cock she had ever seen. A hum escaped her lips as she tilted her head to get more of his cock in her mouth, sucking greedily. Jaime thrashed under her, letting out harsh grunts and nonsensical words. He looked beautiful and free. 

Her head bobbed up and down, driven to take him deeper with every groan of her name from his lips, every thrust of his hips. He was very warm and thick that she worried her jaw would snap. The fat round tip of his cock bumped against the back of her mouth.

“Brienne,” he gasped, grabbing her hair, her shoulder. “It’s. . .I’m coming.”

Their eyes met and she tightened the glove of her lips around him. Jaime actually shouted and came, flooding her mouth with warm semen and tasting faintly of cigarettes. She gagged a little and snapped her head back but she continued with her ministrations, moaning in pleasure. When she felt him soften in her mouth, he sat back, looking relaxed and young, more beautiful than ever. She sat back on her heels then went to the bathroom. Usually she didn’t and it was their secret kink for Jaime to kiss her with her mouth still full of his semen. But she couldn’t stand his awful flavour, certainly didn’t want it with her child. She spat in the sink and brushed her teeth, rinsed with mouthwash.

Yet she didn’t leave the bathroom. Once she was out, the real world was upon them. 

But Brienne had never walked away from life. Scared, yes, but she would face what was to come. They would do it together.

She returned to the living room to find Jaime had pulled up his pants though he still wore a languid, almost sleepy expression. She went to sit beside him but he surprised her by pulling her to his lap. Their kiss was surprisingly unsure and awkward give what they had just done. She wrapped her arms around him as he went about nuzzling her throat instead, briefly sucking her tightened nipples through her shirt. She kissed his hair, also smelling of smoke and damp with sweat while he rested his head on her shoulder.

“I need to hold you while I still can,” he confessed.

“I’m not leaving, Jaime,” she declared firmly. Her touch was light as it brushed away the lock of golden hair falling across his forehead. “No matter how awful whatever you’ll be telling me. I love you.”

He sighed and moved to rest his head between her breasts. She held him, hoping to give him strength.

“Why couldn’t I have met you earlier?” He asked, looking up at her. “Why couldn’t I have vacationed in Tarth, why couldn’t you have visited Casterly Rock back then?”

She knew what he meant by `back then.’ Despite the hell looming over them, she managed a tender but rueful smile. 

“You would have ridiculed me like everyone else.” 

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But once I saw these eyes,” he looked right into them, “there was no escaping them. Imagine if I saw them when I was horny fifteen-year-old.”

“You wouldn’t because that would have me at eight.” She kissed his elegant nose. 

“Well, if we were at the same age, I’m pretty sure we’d be fucking soon after we see each other.” He joked, just to make her blush. She did.

“If we met earlier, we might be where Oberyn and I are now.” She said softly.

“Or not.” 

“Or not.”

They kissed gently. Brienne took Jaime’s hand and kissed it. It smelled of cigarettes. "You're not touching those shitty things again."

Jaime looked at her and she felt him tensing up. Her hands went to his shoulders and she kissed him again.

“Remember I love you.”

“You remember,” he said. “That I love you.”

She nodded. “It’s alright, Jaime. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He reached for her hand and gripped it so tightly it was soon numb. But she didn’t tell him to let go. Not until he told her.

“Selyne might be mine.” He said, his voice shaking, then his body. “Tyrek is. . .Gerion’s.”

“Your uncle?” Brienne breathed.

“I didn’t tell you. The night we found out about our child, Uncle Gerion came to see me. He was there when I was in Casterly Rock. I said things. . .I guess he figured out what he thought I knew so he saw me and said that Tyrek is his. He wasn’t sure about Selyne.” 

“She was cheating on you? With your uncle?”

“He was not the only one.”

“Oh, Jaime.” Brienne hugged him. “I’m so sorry. I know she abused you but you loved her.”

She rubbed his back and whispered soothing nothings in his ear, interspersed with kisses and licks. She wanted to tear into Cersei Lannister’s townhouse and give the woman a thorough beating that would put her in the hospital for months. She was hurt at what his aunt had done, hurt for him for the abuse and betrayal he endured. Along with these, her love for Jaime Lannister grew even more. She may not have a choice in loving him but with his revelation, she could leave or stay. 

Nothing was going to pry her apart from him. She’d kill them first. 

When Jaime started to relax under her kisses and touches, she shifted a little so they could look in each other’s eyes. She saw relief but a graveness lingered. The hard part may be over but things wouldn’t still be that much easier. 

“My father has to know, Brienne. I can’t shut up Oberyn on my own.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

“The usual. Throw money literally at the problem. Your husband’s a fucking hard-ass but let’s hope he’s not that big of an idiot to turn down what my father offers.”

“Tyrion said Tywin will only support us if I’m carrying your child, Jaime.”

He put a hand on her belly. “It’s my child.”

“No, I meant, what if—“

His hand firmed. Emerald eyes dared her to challenge him again. “It’s _mine._ You said it yourself. I’m the father more than Oberyn will be.”

Her eyes misted with tears. _There was no choice but love this man._

“And Selyne? Let’s say Oberyn accepts Tywin’s offer. Will she ever be told?”

“Do you think she’d want to know?”

Brienne kissed him and said, “You’re the father children deserve, Jaime.” She rested her head on his shoulder and held his hand. Her heart was racing from the emotions cresting within her. There was still a war just outside their door, there would still be bouts of uncertainty, they would even fight. But they wouldn’t be as unsure as before. _There won’t be any more nights such as this._

Difficult days were still ahead but nothing like before. Brienne would take it. 

Holding Jaime, she said softly, yet with quiet confidence, “You’re right.What you told me before? Our child gives us more reason to fight. For us.” 

“Look at you,” Jaime said, grinning. His dimples deepened as his smile grew. “I haven't put a ring on you yet but you sound like a Lannister already. I fear for Oberyn for when he hears you roar.” 

"Do you,really," Brienne retorted.

"Nah. Make him piss in his pants, wench. For starters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! We get some reveals in the chapter. What do you think? Please leave a comment! I live for them. :-) Make me feel like a khaleesi. Thank you for reading!


	7. More Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy and angsty times in this chapter and some non-sex but sexy times.  
> An interlude, if you will. They deserve it.

It was a long night of thinking what lay ahead of them. Brienne stared at the dark ceiling, tired in a way that beyond her mind and body but unable to sleep. Jaime, on the other hand, slept peacefully beside her, murmuring and grumbling every now and then. He was dreaming, maybe good dreams, bad dreams. He would seek her hand and hold it as if it was the only anchor that kept him from being swept away. She put it over her heart. The weight of his hand was the missing antidote to her restlessness and at last she fell asleep.

She woke up curled against Jaime, nose against his cheek, arm around his chest and leg across his knees. As she disentangled herself, he turned and made a sound of protest. Eyes closed, his lips found hers and they met in a kiss made slow by sleep yet done with a need to reassure the other of their presence. His lips were dry as hers were chapped, in their mouths the flavour of dreams they would rather forget.

 _Stay with me,_ his kiss seemed to say.

 _I won’t leave you,_ was the promise behind her kiss.

Their clothes were no hindrance to what their kiss was doing to their bodies. He was hard against her thigh and she knew he could feel the growing dampness between her legs but they didn’t take further than kissing and touching. It was enough to thread her fingers through his hair, the strands catching pinpricks of sunlight streaming in and looking more golden. He was content to breathe in her scent from behind the ear, nuzzle the freckles at her throat. She cooed against his mouth when his hand settled on her breast, discovering a new, soft fullness there. Her hand rested on top of his, keeping it there. They looked in each other’s eyes still heavy and bleary with sleep and saw the world. 

It was each other. The life they had made. His hand slid to her stomach, still flat. She pressed his palm and kept looking in his eyes.

He smiled and she pressed her fingertips on the deep, long grooves framing it. _Our child should have his smile._ Not for its beauty. It was Jaime’s. For that reason alone.  
His head dipped toward hers again and she closed her eyes in anticipation of another heated kiss that would send her heart racing, her pulses beating frantically. His breath caressed her lips just as her stomach gave its familiar, dreaded lurch. Gasping, she flung him away and rolled out of bed, slipping and tripping on the shoes and books on the floor. She growled about the mess as she threw herself in the direction of the bathroom. 

Jaime sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The wood between his legs softened at the guttural sounds of agony coming from Brienne as she threw up last night’s dinner into the toilet. He got off the bed, shuffling on bare feet past the half-open door to the bathroom. He took a bottle of mineral water from the fridge and returned to the bathroom, where Brienne was just getting to her feet. 

Face a deep, hot pink though looking pale, she looked at him, all apologies and embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled as he held out the bottle to her.

Jaime brushed his knuckles on her warm cheek affectionately. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She took the bottle, putting it on the shelf by the sink. He watched her take her toothbrush from the cabinet behind the mirror, oddly moved by the ease in her movements. It was like she had always been here, with him. As she put toothpaste on her toothbrush, she glanced at him through the mirror. 

Blushing even more, she asked, “Are you going to watch?”

“Yes.” He leaned against the door, crossed his arms. He grinned. “I like looking at you.”

Since there was no dissuading him, she finished with the task quickly. She downed half a bottle of the water before continuing with washing her face. As she patted a towel on her cheeks, she said, “You should wash too. I’ll see to breakfast.”

Brienne straightened up and headed for the door, to him. He looked up at her, his eyes bright at the sight of her pale, straw-coloured hair standing on their ends, the scowl that permanently rested on her face. But the expression slowly softened as he raised his chin slightly. 

They kissed, a deeper brush of lips and tongue. She tasted of toothpaste and water. After years of being turned on his head by the most exotic perfumes, it gave him a new rush, his knees weakening for the subtlest scents—her skin, fresh, warm, natural. Even the faint trace of sweat seeped into him, intoxicating his senses. 

“How can you want to kiss me after all that?” There was true bewilderment in her eyes as she pulled away.

“Wench,” he said affectionately, tugging at the neckline of her tank top and kissing the slender band of skin exposed. “You should ask that if I kiss right after you vomit. I’m crazy about you but not that crazy.”

She giggled. It sounded between gurgling and girlish, odd for her size. He pressed his nose against her neck and drew a satisfied hum from her.

“I love you, Jaime,” she said. She seemed to sound as if she were marveling at the fact, for once. He hoped she’d say it like that more often, instead of sounding apologetic and wounded. He understood why the latter was so. Someday, he vowed, kissing her again before reluctantly removing himself from her arms. She cupped his cheek, staring once again at Cersei's mark. He still hadn't told her what happened, having glimpsed the anger in her eyes when she saw it last night. All that stopped her from giving Cersei a beating was his silence. He had to be, for the baby. Too well he remembered her devastation at the loss of her first child. Brienne was precious and carrying their baby, was even more.

“Well, being that’s the case,” he said, pretending to give it serious consideration. “I’ll see to breakfast.”

She playfully shoved him back to the bathroom. “I’m pregnant, not sick. I can do it.”

“Sure? Nothing will send you running to the bathroom anytime soon?”

“I think we can cross out chicken and fish,” she replied, wincing. “But I would kill for banana pancakes.”

“Get started, I’ll help.” He urged, kissing her again before he eased back into the bathroom.

It was a weekday but it was early enough that they could make breakfast and linger before heading to work. Brienne was mixing the ingredients when Jaime reached the kitchen, so he went about setting the table. The domesticity and naturalness of the scene they were unweaving seemed straight out of a dream. The abundance of natural light didn’t help in making it more real. We’ve gotten so used to suffering for loving each other we don’t know what to do on days like this, Brienne thought, feeling a pang. Though they both knew what to do, it was laced with awkwardness. Jaime didn’t know if cloth napkins were too much for breakfast. Brienne realized she hadn’t asked if he liked bananas and pancakes together. Little things.

But there were bursts of the familiar too, especially when they sat down. The woebegone look that rose in Brienne’s face as she watched Jaime enjoy his brewed coffee, quickly shifting to annoyance when he smirked at her and made a show of sipping loudly. She glared miserably at the tea she would be drinking until their baby was born, since she had to be careful with high blood pressure, just in case. But she smiled when he poured more syrup onto her pancakes, shaking his head at the consequences of his indulgence. She kissed him in gratitude so it was worth it.

For most women, knowing that your lover had a most disturbing affair with a relative and may have had a child with her would send them running away. There were no doubt quite a number who would much rather be ignored by husbands. It was the easier choice and Brienne wouldn’t blame them. 

This was the terrifying part of loving Jaime: she had little comprehension of how deeply and truly she loved him. What was certain was every time another curveball was thrown their way, she just loved him more. There was no choice behind it, she just did. It was never easy yet it also felt as something engraved in her bones and deeper. What scared her more was if she didn’t feel anything for Jaime. If he wasn’t in her life.

They finished breakfast and washed the dishes. In the shower, they kissed and touched some more but again, took it no further. They were content with just this, for now. Yet it didn’t stop the hunger in Jaime’s eyes when he watched her put on panties. He stood leaning against the door of their closet, watching her unabashedly, frowning when she started to give him her back because the heat in his gaze was unnerving. He was erect and huge in his boxers.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’ll never leave,” she told him, cheeks red and vivid as she hastened into a navy blue shirt. The silk licked her hard nipples in spite of the camisole she wore.

Jaime smirked. “Promise?”

She rolled her eyes and proceeded to put on slim-fitting trousers. Jaime groaned and she laughed as he muttered under his breath about tempting, naughty wenches while wrenching on his jeans. When he straightened up, she put her arms around his waist from behind, her lips and teeth nipping at his bare skin.

“It’s hard for me too,” she confessed, burying her face between his shoulders.

“Not possible. I’m getting harder,” he complained. She smiled and kissed him on the nape then turned away to look for her shoes. Jaime yanked on a long-sleeved t-shirt then another plaid shirt from an endless collection. As he buttoned up, he turned to her and saw her putting on loafers.

“Are you ready for today?” He asked as she looked up. He didn’t have to specify what he meant.

“I’m never ready facing him,” she admitted. “But I’m less afraid.”

“That’s good.” He strode toward her then dropped on one knee. Brienne tensed and he had to laugh. 

“Relax, wench. I won’t be asking you to marry me, not for a while. I just want you to know I’m glad you feel this way. The world seems to have picked us as primo candidates to go through hell.”

“It’s not hell,” Brienne said defensively. “I’m with you.”

He paused at her words. “Only you would say that.”

“Jaime?” Brienne pulled him up so he was sitting beside her. She took his hand and held it between hers. “It’s difficult. I won’t lie. But ever since I knew I was pregnant, I’ve been less afraid of Oberyn. I’m still worried. I fear for Selyne and Tyrek, us, the rest of your family but somehow. . .it’s strange. I’m not ready at all for what else will happen but I know I can take on whatever is thrown at us just as long as you’re with me.”

“And I am with you.” Jaime vowed. “You’re not alone in this, wench.”

As he bumped his chin gently on her shoulder, she said, “I just think that we have to go through all this shit because the payoff is we’ll be happy far longer than we imagined. I have to believes that’s what in store for us, otherwise what would be point?”

“The world wants us to be really sure.” Jaime traced a long finger on the surprisingly delicate network of bluish veins under the softer skin of her wrist. “Tell me something, Brienne. I need you to be honest.”

“Okay.”

“If not for the child, will you stay with me? Given that my cousin may actually be my daughter?”

“I’d like to think I would.” Brienne said slowly, clearly giving it serious thought. “We’re made of stronger stuff, Jaime. Sometimes it surprises me how far we’ve come. So much has happened already to keep us apart but here we are, together.”

“Together,” he echoed. “That’s true.”

“I admit I didn’t do too well early on. Me wanting to leave you to protect you. I’ve never thanked you for fighting for me to stay, for fighting for us.”

“What do you expect me to do? Brienne, you are worth fighting for.” He slipped his hand under her shirt and caressed her stomach gently, protectively. It was a touch she felt deeper than skin. _We will protect you, little one. You will not be taken from us._ “You both are. You didn’t make it easy but I only had to love you harder and prove it. I would prove it for the rest of our lives.”

Brienne blinked at him. He frowned. “What?”

“That sounds a lot like a vow.” She said slowly.

“Is it,” he drawled innocently.

“When this is over. When we have what appears to be normal life and headed toward happiness, could you do one thing for me?” Her heart rate picked up as she readied herself.

“Anything, wench. Your wish is my command.”

She took a deep breath. Blue eyes brimming with anxiety and hope searched his face. Never had she looked so dear to him.

“Will you ask me to marry you again?”


	8. How Far I'll Go

To prove even more to Oberyn and Arthur how unyielding they were, one of Ned’s strategies was his refusal to cede territory and insisted all their meetings take place at his firm. He pointed out that if Arthur’s client was going to make things difficult in contesting a divorce where the other party was not even going for what was legally her share, he didn’t see the point of making anything convenient for them. It also worked on Brienne’s advantage as Ned’s office was only five blocks from the museum. 

After one fruitless meeting after another where Oberyn tried to unsuccessfully intimidate Brienne, the lawyers agreed on a deadline. Brienne’s conditions were the same: Oberyn’s signature on the divorce papers and, at Ned’s insistence, alimony. Ned and Arthur agreed on a deadline. If Oberyn still refused the terms, Brienne would take him to court. She wanted to fly across the conference table and punch him in the face when he retorted, “Just try it, baby. We’ll see who hurts who.” 

Now it was that day. Brienne fiddled with the collar of her black blazer as she sat next to Ned in the conference room, waiting for her husband and his lawyer. The stenographer set up her equipment and like them, waited quietly.

In spite of Tyrion’s advice, she and Jaime decided to keep her pregnancy just among the three of them. Whether it was the best decision to make, she and Jaime felt right about it. 

She had to restrain herself from touching her belly, lest Ned notice or worse, Oberyn, when he arrived. 

After trying to get pregnant again with Oberyn and only finding disappointment month after month, they came to a stop. They didn’t talk about going on a break or taking it slow. By mutual, silent agreement, they just stopped. Brienne wondered if deep down, she didn’t really want his child. She would always remember the pain and helplessness of feeling her baby dying inside her. She couldn’t forget that or how alone she had been. Margaery was there, Jaime, her father, but it was Oberyn she needed. She shouldn’t be surprised that since he was hardly around for the little moments where she missed him the most, it was logical he wouldn’t be there on crucial moments. It was a struggle forgiving him when he made it to the hospital just before she was checked out but how he’d left her alone when Selwyn died—at that point, she stopped caring.   
The resentment grew and while she could admit now that anger at Oberyn and a wish to hurt him was part of the reason for her running to Jaime, it was very small, almost insignificant. Her heart had turned against him long before, when, she couldn’t tell. Was it when he started going away so often, when she had to turn herself inside-out to please him? Was it any wonder she fell for someone who saw her as she was and loved her for it? Perhaps that’s why a child came to them, though it wasn’t the best time. Brienne always believed that children were the testament of the love between parents. Even if the baby ultimately turned out to be Oberyn’s, it was still Jaime’s. He would protect it and love it as if it was his own because it was. 

Knowing this gave her some happiness in the storm. She couldn’t shake off completely the worry that she might lose it. With the first, she had lavished love and adoration, took good care of herself. Finding herself pregnant again, she was at a loss. The joy was there. But she didn’t know how to take care of the baby and protect it from everything that was happening. She had to believe that she was pregnant despite everything, that it meant this child surrounded by so much adversity was going to be born and grow stronger than she and Jaime could ever be.

“Brienne,” Ned’s soft, gravely tones steered her from her thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder at the door before continuing. “I need you to be sure. If Oberyn still refuses, we go to court.”

“I am.” She vowed. 

“You know what he’s threatened to do.”

“Let him.”

If he was startled by the new steely quality of her voice, he hid it well. 

“They are lies. Whatever `evidence’ he presents would be fabricated and has no connection with our divorce. If he wants to make a fool of himself, let him.” 

“Lies.” Ned said, looking at her because he knew the truth.

She tried not to gulp when she said, “He believes he has something. It’s nothing. Nothing that would stand up in court.” 

He smiled at her in approval. “Glad that you’re fighting back, Brienne. It’s about time.”

He had just finished speaking when an assistant peeked in and announced the arrival of Oberyn Martell and Arthur Dayne. Ned and Brienne remained seated as the two men entered the room. The stenographer glanced at Ned, who nodded at her. She poised her fingers over the machine, waiting.

Arthur’s pinched, disgruntled expression was a contrast to Oberyn’s too-wide smile. Brienne’s heart stilled, knowing exactly what was going to happen next.  
“Let’s cut to the chase—“ Oberyn started to say as he remained standing while Arthur sat down and opened his briefcase.

“Have a seat, Oberyn,” Arthur snapped, shooting him a warning look. “I’ll do the talking.”

“Fine.” Oberyn made a grand gesture at sitting down, beaming at Brienne. She refused to look away. Ned was grim.

Arthur pulled out a folder from the briefcase. “Though your demands are reasonable, Mrs. Martell, Mr. Martell refuses the divorce. We have reached an agreement that Mr. Martell’s refusal on this date would mean you’ll take him to court.”

“That’s what we said,” Ned said. Brienne was not to speak unless he gave her explicit instruction. “So. What decision has your client arrived at?”

“We have one condition.”

Brienne refused to blink as Oberyn’s dark eyes rested on, waiting for her to squirm or wince, anything that showed her discomfort. She stared back at him blankly.  
Ned poised his pen over the legal pad. “My client asks nothing from yours, except for alimony—which she says she will drop if he agrees to the divorce on this date. Again, for the record, if the deadline passes, we’ll see each other in court.Tell me how else my client can extend further generosity to yours?" He said sarcastically.

Oberyn smirked and ordered Arthur, “Show them.”

Brienne let herself glare at Oberyn, who was smiling coolly at her as Arthur opened the folder. Ned took out several sheets of papers as well as receipts.

“Pray tell, what are these?”

“When Brienne’s father died, she suddenly left in the middle of the night and flew back to Westeros. I understood why she had to leave. I love her. However, that left me in charge of her father’s house. Among the tasks I had to oversee was closing it up, settling whatever utilities had to be settled, ensuring that the house would be looked after in our absence. That was all I was expected to do.” Oberyn said.

Brienne held her breath. _What’s he up to now?_

“Unfortunately, on my first night alone, a hurricane whipped through Tarth and left significant damage to the house amounting to several thousands. Brienne knew what happened. I got in touch with her as soon as the phone lines were working. I couldn’t leave, of course, since the airport was also wrecked. Once again, the responsibility of the house fell on me. I ended up staying there for two weeks because I had to look for good people who could do the job and watch over them, and had to commute back on forth for, shall we say, four months? Five? The details are in that folder. That meant I lost time with work and my money also took a hit.”

Realizing how Oberyn was making this appear, Brienne blurted out, “Are you kidding me? That money was from our joint account! That money wasn’t just yours!”

As Ned placed a hand over hers, Oberyn shrugged. “Yes, it’s our joint account. But we both know I earn more. The contents of that account at any given time is at least fifty percent mine.”

“So what’s this?” Ned asked as Brienne fumed silently. “You wish to be reimbursed? Compensated?” He thumbed through a thick sheaf of receipts and invoices. 

“Mrs. Martell’s filing for divorce has resulted in extreme emotional and mental distress for my client.” Arthur said smoothly. “My client intended to make public sensitive information regarding her companion Jaime Lannister but he decided that he would much rather accept as settlement that she turn over the house ownership of Selwyn Tarth’s house to him. If not, she is to reimburse him for the money spent in repairs and renovations, as well as compensation for money he lost at work as he went back and forth to Tarth—“

 _“Absolutely not!”_ Brienne snarled, her face red with anger. “You are never getting my father’s house!”

“Then Mr. Martell requests he be compensated for one point five million golden dragons.” Arthur replied without missing a beat. 

There was no way to hide the hurt and betrayal on her face as she regarded Oberyn. He knew that if he couldn’t hurt her by exposing Jaime’s incest, he could do maximum damage by getting her father’s house. Her father’s house—her memories, her life—it had been with her family for over a hundred years. What made her want to rip at Oberyn’s throat was he was getting it as a final vendetta against her. He had no love for the house. He just wanted the satisfaction of taking something from she loved.

“I am so sorry.” Brienne said softly, unable to stop herself.

“Brienne—“ Ned tried to interrupt but she continued, looking at Oberyn pityingly.

“I am so sorry I wasted all those years with you. I am sorry for loving you. I regret believing that you’re a good man. What a fool I was, thinking that just because you saved me from embarrassment all those years ago it meant you were kind, that you were somebody to love. You are not that, Oberyn Martell. I am so sorry for any time I spent with you because it was all a lie. The boy I fell in love with would never be the man sitting across from me now. He wouldn’t be so hateful and cruel. I am so sorry for the years I wasted loving you.” 

Her voice was faint and disembodied but it made Oberyn stop and look at her, as if realizing for the first time that she was not the woman he thought he knew. She met his eyes and shook her head, regret a heavy weight in her heart. 

“Congratulations, Oberyn. You’ve hurt me. But you’re not getting me back. I will see you in court.”

Arthur glanced at Oberyn, who was strangely silent. Oblivious, he said, “Listen, my client is willing to negotiate.”

“My client says they’ll see each other in court and that’s what will happen,” Ned declared. He threw Oberyn a look of disgust.

“You’re sorry for a lot of things, I see,” Oberyn oberved. His voice was mocking but the venom that had laced his tone earlier was gone. “But I seem to have not heard any apology for hurting and embarrassing me because you keep fucking Jaime Lannister.”

“After how you’ve hurt me you expect me to apologize for that?” Brienne asked. “With all you’ve done and threatened to do?”

“Because I fucking care about you!” Oberyn suddenly shouted, startling everyone except Brienne. He slammed his fist on the table. “In spite of all you’ve done, I still love you!” 

“No.” She shook her head and continued so quietly Oberyn had to strain himself to hear. “You don’t. You haven’t loved me for a long time. Probably longer than I have stopped loving you.” 

They were still staring at each other, Brienne’s gaze resigned and Oberyn irritated at having been unintentionally outmaneuvered. Ned glanced at them and said to Arthur, “We are going to contest this. It doesn’t matter that your client is willing to negotiate, this is plain wrong.”

“Tell that to your cheating client,” Arthur sneered.

Ned started to speak in Brienne’s defense when someone knocked softly on the glass door of the conference room before opening it. He stared in puzzlement at the two men in suit accompanied by one of the guards of the building. 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” the guard wore a nameplate with the name Greyjoy on it. “But the Westeros Bureau of Internal Revenue Services are here for Oberyn Martell.”

Oberyn looked shocked for a moment before smiling slowly.

 

“Another reason this is also highly collectible is the album art as well,” Jaime was saying to a customer. “Winston Smith illustrated a lot of the EPs and album covers from the decade. Add that to the album being from the gods of punk and you can’t go wrong with adding this to your collection.” 

He loved this part of the job—getting to talk about music with people who really respected the stuff. He had more than enough encounters with dilettantes and, more annoyingly, dabblers. Sometimes his arrogance still got the best of him and he would flat-out refuse a client or sell a rare LP to someone like that, no matter the revenue in would bring to the shop. He believed in standards. He was cynical about a lot of things but not with music.

The customer nodded enthusiastically, and shared that he had seen a spike in the interest of collecting cover art done by Winston Smith. He bemoaned about recent CD covers that was more about being pretty rather than art. Jaime rejoined that at least CDs still gave opportunities for album art. It was having to download music that was slowly killing the business.

“Kids these days, they only listen to songs that are officially released through I-Tunes. Hardly do they buy albums anymore. They don’t realize that to get a grasp of what their favourite music artist really is, they had to listen to the entire album,” Jaime agreed.

“We’re fucking dinosaurs.”

“Well,” he said, smirking. “I don’t intend to go extinct. I’m gonna evolve”

The customer scooped up more rare LPs—he knew his stuff, knew what he liked. Jaime instructed Pia to offer to put the guy in their database so he could be informed when they got new acquisitions that aligned with his interests. Jaime wrapped up the purchases himself afterward and wished the guy a good day.

In his office, Jaime went over the monthly accounts, signed checks and answered three new emails from potential new clients. Since Brienne had moved in, had limited his trips to just a couple of days at the longest. As difficult as their situation was, he still loved living with her. He liked sleeping with his face smooshed against her pillow, grinning at her hisses that she was going to fall off the bed. Waking up beside her. Going home to cook their dinner and welcoming her with a kiss or a quick but always satisfying fuck against the wall or the couch. With her pregnant, he was loathed to be far from her side longer than necessary. That was the best thing about living with her—seeing the subtle changes in her body as their child grew in her.

Our child. It was a heady concept. When they plunged into the affair, neither thought about the future. Well, Jaime loved her from the beginning though he wouldn’t acknowledge it until later. Having been a secret for too long, he was expecting to be another one with Brienne. If that were the case, he had no idea how long he’d stay in the relationship and it frightened him how willing he might have been, to be relegated as something to make room for yet again. Thankfully, Brienne didn’t see him as a space-filler and she refused to have him as a secret. She could be unsure and very skittish but once she set her mind on something, very little could dissuade her. A smile lit up his face remembering her earnest question last night: _“Will you ask me to marry you again?”_

_If the gods are good they would allow me hope._

He hadn’t heard from her all day. He knew that she took an early day from work to meet with Oberyn and the lawyers. Today was the deadline. Jaime was pins and needles glancing at the phone, waiting for her text or call. The absence of anything was not helping his nerves. He could contact her but he didn’t want to distract her.   
Jaime was adding up his expenses from a last trip when someone knocked on his door and Pia looked in. She looked worried.

“Jaime, there are people outside demanding to see you. Peck’s trying to calm him down.” She hesitated then added. “Says they’re your cousins. Tyrek and Selyne. ”

Jaime swore under his breath. What lies did you tell your children, Cersei?

Pia trailed after Jaime as he went to the front of the store. Indeed, there was Tyrek, his eyes blood shot and his face flushed pink. When he saw Jaime, he turned, too quickly. He smacked against a tower of CDs, sending a couple to the floor. He’s drunk. Selyne, distressed, went to her brother and pulled his long arm over her shoulders. 

“Tyrek.” Jaime said, approaching them. “Selyne.” 

Heavy-lidded green eyes stared at him. “You,” Tyrek slurred. Despite Jaime’s distance, he could smell the alcohol.

“I told him this was a bad idea.” Selyne said helplessly, staggering under her brother’s heavy form. 

“Let’s go to my office, shall we?” Jaime told them.

“No. I don’t want to.” Tyrek declared. Jaime winced at the stink of alcohol emanating from his pores. Glaring at Jaime, he demanded, “Is it true?”  
“Let’s discuss it in my office.”

“You know what happened the last time I was in an office?” Tyrek demanded. “My mom told me Jon Umber wasn’t my Dad. Does that make sense to you? My Dad isn’t my dad. That my Dad is actually my Uncle. What the fuck is that all about?”

Jaime tried not to notice Pia and Peck looking at each other. He sighed and turned to them.

“Have your break. Don’t forget to close up and turn the sign,” he said. 

He started to help Tyrek off Selyne when she suddenly asked, “Is it true, Jaime?” Her green eyes were big with fear.

“Pia. Peck.” Jaime growled, getting them to spring into action. Pia went for the door and waited for Peck, who was getting his keys from the drawer under the cash register. He glanced at Jaime before hurrying toward Pia. She flipped the sign to CLOSED and they locked the door. 

As soon as they were left alone, Selyne demanded again, “Jaime, is it true? That Jon isn’t our father?”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Getting wasted. Jaime, please. It’s all over.” 

“What do you mean?” Confusion and dread filled him. “What do you mean it’s all over?”

“It’s been all over the news and gossip sites since this afternoon.” Selyne grimaced as she held Tyrek. He was mumbling incoherently. “Jaime, they’re saying Jon Umber isn’t our Dad.”

“You know what else Mom said?” Tyrek asked, suddenly laughing. 

Selyne flushed and grunted, “Tyrek, don’t.”

Tyrek pushed on. Leaning conspiratorially toward Jaime, he said, “She’s not sure if Selyne’s Uncle Gerion’s. Or yours.” 

“Please don’t listen to him, Jaime. He’s drunk. Besides it’s not true, right?” Selyne was practically begging.

“Seven bloody hells.” Jaime muttered. Never had he wanted to murder anyone until now. 

“Jaime, tell me it’s not true!” Selyne pleaded.

There was no point of denying it. It’s all over the news. _Congratulations, Oberyn. You destroyed the Lannisters without bloodshed._

“I’m sorry, Selyne,” Jaime said. He was sorry for what he and Cersei had done, but it didn’t come close th the wretchedness in his heart as the consequence of their actions stood before him, trying bravely to fight off her tears. “I’m so sorry. But I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that it hasn't been clearly established if jaime really had a child with Cersei. He's kind of a wort-case-scenario kind of guy that's why he tells Selyne that. He obviously can't say, "I'm not sure, unless we do blood tests right now. Who's first?" 
> 
> We know who spread the gossip. But we also know the idiot who decided to honest in the worst possible time. Gods damn it!


	9. Beyond Blood

Brienne was tired.

Beside her, Jaime let out a long, pained sigh. He was tired too.

Oberyn’s arrest should be a cause for celebration. Finally, they were winning. An hour after he left the conference room in handcuffs, the internet screamed with the doubtful parentage of Tyrek and Selyne Umber. Brienne had rushed home and found Jaime sitting on the couch, head buried in his hands. She had no idea how long he had been there but was relieved that the bottle of beer on the coffee table was still half-full before she dumped its contents in the sink and put it in the trash. When she sat down beside him, it was only then that he seemed to realize she was there. They stared at each other before she fell in his arms.

She felt as if they were adrift on a sea, with only a piece from a shattered ship protecting them from drowning. Clinging to each other was all they could do. Words eluded them. She was the first to risk a kiss and almost wept when he kissed her back, fully expecting him to push her away. This, they could do, kiss and touch, as if to assure themselves that the other was there.

At some point, Jaime got up and worked in the kitchen. Brienne ignored calls from Margaery and Catelyn. They were worried for her and she was grateful but what could she say? They were not okay. They didn’t know how to fix this. If it could even be fixed. 

Her mind was so crammed with thoughts that made little sense that she didn’t notice Jaime returning to her side right away. Then he was holding out a plate to her, a sandwich on it. The aroma of fried meat swirling in the apartment suddenly hit her and she realized that as she had sat here trying to understand how and why they were being punished so, he had cooked bacon and made her a sandwich. 

“You look a little half-dead,” he told her. His voice was a dry rasp. Frowning, he cleared his throat. “If you don’t have any appetite, do this for our child.”

_Our child._

Their child was the only light in this darkness. The one good thing aside from Jaime. Brienne nodded and took the sandwich, taking a huge bite. Jaime had put lots of cheese in it as well, as she liked. She took another bite before he thrust a glass of orange juice at her.

“Don’t worry. It’s no concentrate. You need the sugar, wench. Really, you look pale.”

She swigged it halfway down the glass and put it away. Her heart was racing, the gravity of what she was feeling and doing sinking into her. She was with child. She had to protect it. No matter what was happening to them, to her, she had to think about the little, fragile life in her womb. As she finished the sandwich, Jaime took a bowl of mixed fruit, putting it on his lap so he was ready when she needed it.

She ate the sandwich and the mixed fruit, downed the juice. Eating swelled up her hunger so he got up to make her another sandwich, piling on extra lettuce and tomatoes this time. From the couch, she softly called out that she wanted extra of mayonnaise too. Extra thick.

He brought her the sandwich and returned to the kitchen to search for food. There were steaks in the freezer. Given the pace at how Brienne was consuming the sandwich, she would be hungry again soon. Jaime put the meat in the microwave to defrost it. Done, he rubbed them with salt and pepper before cooking. He stir-fried the random collection of vegetables he found in the fridge.

They ate dinner in silence at the couch. Jaime wasn’t feeling hungry but Brienne wouldn’t eat if he wasn’t. He managed to get a couple of bites in before convincing her to take the half of his steak. She washed down the meal with more freshly-squeezed orange juice.

With food in her belly, Brienne felt better and her mind clearer. Still tired, emotionally, but Jaime put his head on her lap. The gesture was not familiar yet felt much so, and her heart was full in realizing how much he trusted and loved her. She watched him take her hand and keep it on his chest, right where his heart was beating. 

“Brienne,” he said, looking up at her. His blond hair fanned across her thighs. “I love you.”

“I know.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She wondered if he could feel the kick in her pulse.

“I don’t know what we can do,” she admitted as his lips and breath warmed her palm.

“It’s alright. I don’t know either.”

Somehow, it was reassuring rather than the other way. 

After Jaime had told Selyne the truth, she had cried and dragged Tyrek out of the store. He had no idea if they had gone home, his head still full and wrecked with what his cousin (daughter?) revealed. With cold dread he got in front of the computer and went online. Selyne was not exaggerating. It was all over. The gossip sites and news sites. It was trending, moreso than the bomb attack on an elementary school. They lived in a sick world, Jaime thought with disgust, slamming the laptop closed. Salacious, malicious fucking gossip over lives of innocents snuffed out in the cruelest way.

“What if Selyne is your child?” Brienne asked. She had to, now, while she was feeling a little brave. “What do you think we can do?”

“I think it’s her choice that matters.” Jaime returned her hand to his heart. “If she would have me, I hope she’ll be welcome to our lives, Brienne. I-I know she’s a reminder of what Cersei and I did but she’s innocent. I won’t be turning her away.”

“You think I would?” She demanded, startled at what he was insinuating.

“It’s going to be difficult. I don’t expect you to be so. . .accepting. But I hope you would see it the way I do.”

“I know she had nothing to do with you and your aunt. Yes, it won’t be easy for me but I’m not cruel. If she’s your daughter and you believe she should be in our lives, if she agrees, then okay. She’s in our life. I can never forgive Cersei for she did but if she’s yours, I know I can love her.” 

“Even if she isn’t,” Jaime said. “And she’s alone.” 

She understood. “No matter what, she’s part of us.” She meant it, hard as it was.

Jaime tightened his hold on her hand. Sensing there was more, she whispered, “What?”

“I know what I ask, but I’m asking anyway. It’s not just Selyne, Brienne. Tyrek as well.” He hoped his cousin was alright, or at least had found his way home. _Cersei shouldn’t have let them go,_ he thought, angry at having to clean up her mess. 

Brienne’s eyes were beautiful and soft, more vivid than sapphires. He watched the thoughts and emotions flit cross her face as she absorbed what else he was asking.  
“I’m glad you asked.”

“I know I shouldn’t. I’ve asked so many from you already.”

“Love is not keeping a tally, Jaime.It’s trust. You trusted me enough to ask.And I love you. Nothing will change that. So, yes. " This time, she brought his hand to her lips. "If Tyrek wants, he has a place here with us. They both do. For as long as they need.”

Staggered by the love clear and shining from her eyes, Jaime buried his face against her stomach. She held him as he unbuttoned her shirt and kissed her there sweetly. “Gods, Brienne, I love you so much. You deserve a much better man but I’m selfish.”

“I got the _best_ man,” she told him and was rewarded by his smile, grateful and awed. He leaned up and she cradled him firmly in her arms as they kissed.  
“I love you, Jaime.”

Their kiss deepened, each breathing harshly. Jaime cupped her cheek and he rose, shifting so he was straddling her thighs. She turned so he was under her and she smiled at his surprised grunt before his eyes sparkled. Our child should have his eyes, she thought before dipping her head toward his.

Just before their lips met, the buzzer rang. Despite the hell they were in, Brienne let out a groan as she dropped her head on his chest, her heart singing at his rumble of laughter. _If we could still have room for laughter, we will survive this and more._ She sat back so he could slide out from under her and get to the door.

“Who is it?” He asked.

“Jaime.” He froze at the familiar, precise enunciation coming from the speaker. Brienne got up, fixing her hair and her shirt, looking at him curiously. Under his breath, Jaime muttered, “Shit. The gods really enjoy fucking us.”

“I heard that,” Tywin Lannister said. “Let me in.” 

 

Ten minutes he was ringing the doorbell but no answer. There were no lights at all from inside the house but he knew that she was in there. Having given her enough time, he pulled out the keys from his pocket and let himself in.

He was disgusted at the absence of an alarm or any system that protected the place from an intruder. He was one, in spite of the keys. He pushed them back to his pocket and called out, “Cersei?”

Jon Umber had set foot in this house only a few times, and never past the first floor. Despite having joint custody of their children, Cersei didn’t want him going to any of the rooms upstairs, didn’t want him in her life after the divorce, period. But he was here now, having flown for six hours from Last Hearth to Westeros as soon as he was alerted on the damaging news spreading about his children. That’s what he was here for. His children.

He felt for switches and flicked the lights on. Cersei had clearly dismissed all servants and was probably not inside herself. His calls to his son and daughter were unanswered, making it more urgent that he got to the city of Westeros as soon as possible. 

The first floor held only a receiving room, a study, the dining room and the kitchen. He climbed up the stairs, the sturdy wood creaking and sinking under his weight. He was broad and muscular rather than fat, and stood an impressive six-foot-five. He spotted the faint glow of a light as he stood at the stop of the stairs and once again felt for switches. Finding one, he toggled it on and blinked at the sight before him.

Cersei Lannister’s beauty was unmatched, despite her fifty-five years. She still wore her hair long and sweeping to her shoulders, thick, lustrous gold waves softer than silk. Her eyes were tinged pink and her smooth, creamy skin flushed. Jon saw the two empty bottles of wine on the table. The third she was pouring the contents onto a big goblet. She didn’t look up to acknowledge his presence.

He had not been a good husband to her. Their match was encouraged by her brother and his father but they were dutiful—at least, Jon thought himself so. They did their duty but while he tried to inject good in it, tried to be a friend to his wife, Cersei had made it very clear that she would never love him and would only stay in their marriage for as long as she could stomach it. She loathed the north with its harsh, bitter weather and the bitterest winters, railed against her isolation there. Jon tried to make her happy with vacations in sunny places, jewelry, a generous allowance but they were not enough. Before long, their marriage disintegrated. When she got pregnant, he dreamed that things would at least improve. He would never make her love him but hoped that at least they could be civil. It was a pipe dream. It hurt when she filed for divorce but not as hurt as he’d been when she first demanded sole custody of their children. Jon pissed off his family by giving in to her greedy demands just so he could still see their children regularly.

But according to news, they weren’t his children at all.

Cersei’s expression was bored as she stared at him. She was wearing a silk robe the colour of blood, emphasizing her blond hair and green eyes. Jon strode toward her until he could sit on the ottoman across from her, the table and the bottles of wine between them. He listened to her take a long sip of the win before her unsteady hand reached for the bottle again. Wine sloshed to the table but he didn’t help her, waiting until she finished. 

“What are you doing here,” she muttered, taking another sip and leaning back on the couch.

“I’m here for the children. Not for you.”

“ _The children._ Of course.” She laughed bitterly. “They’re not here. Tyrek ran out when I told him the truth and Selyne went after him.”

“So it’s true?” Jon asked softly. “They’re your brother’s?”

Cersei’s smile was cruel. “Tyrek is. Selyne, I’m not sure about. She could be yours. Or also Gerion’s. Or Jaime’s. Other men. I was busy fucking a lot of men at that time.”

“Why? How are you such a nasty woman? You have much opportunity, more opportunities than people have and you shit on it fucking your brother and your nephew and other men. I could have cared for you but you wouldn’t let me.”

“What was the point? Ours was a business match. This is surprising. The macho Jon Umber wanting love.” Cersei made a face and tossed the wine down her throat. “You disgust me.”

“You could have waited until I was here before talking to them. And now you’re here getting drunk instead of being out there looking for our children!”

“ _My_ children! Not yours!”

She smirked as he fell silent. 

“All my life I was told that I was only good for one thing. Bringing more Lannisters to the world. I don’t see why the world is in an uproar when I only fulfilled my fucking duty.” Cersei slammed her goblet on the table and reached for the bottle again. “`Ensure the Lannister legacy,’ Tywin liked to remind me. That brother of mine should be grateful because for once I did as he asked. Well,” she giggled. “Twice.”

Jon refused to be distracted by hate for her. Not now.

“Why did you dismiss the servants. Why are you getting drunk instead of looking for our children!”

“Again, you lumbering fool—“

“Do not speak.” Jon seethed. He got to his feet and snatched the glass and bottle from her. The other bottles crashed to the table and she whined.

“Fuck you, Jon!” She yelled. 

“Get dressed. We’re looking for the children.”

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned. They're not yours.”

“They may not have my blood but they’re still mine.” Jon glared at her. “You’ve robbed me of heirs, you served me lies—lies I don’t deserve, but let me tell you something that never crossed your sick, stupid head, Cersei. You have not taken everything from me. Tyrek and Selyne are my children. They’re mine, more than they’re yours or Gerion’s, or Jaime,s or any of the little shits you opened your legs for.” His dark eyes watered and he swallowed at the choking sensation rising in his throat. “You’ll never win, whatever game it is you’re playing. I love Tyrek and Selyne. Nothing will change that. You can fight to take more from me, you fucking bitch, but not that.” His eyes flashed as he fought to hold on to what little pride he had left. 

Nevertheless, His voice shook as he declared, “They are my children and I l love them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Westeros is a city like NYC, Paris. . .


	10. With You

Tywin Lannister was a man who kept a poker face no matter the situation. His self-control was like steel, that even in very emotional moments, he spoke carefully, pronouncing words like a knife carefully slicing the toughest cut of meat. His green eyes were round and sharp, with an unwavering gaze that missed nothing.  
He stood before Jaime and Brienne. Jaime stood protectively in front of Brienne despite sensing her disapproval. He still remembered how Tywin had insulted her and glared defiantly at him. 

Behind Tywin stood Tyrion, looking worried and ill at the same time. He obviously did not want to be here, let alone to be the one to have brought Tywin to the place. Jaime forgave his brother. Crossing Tywin was never a good idea and the last transgression he had committed would mean payback. His father was a master in collecting debts.  
He heard Brienne shuffle forward to introduce herself. He grabbed her hand and stilled her, giving her a pleading look. She knew what Tywin was like. Her courtesy would do nothing to what his father thought of her. Tywin raised his pale eyebrows at their silent exchange and clasped his hands to the front. He stared at Jaime then Brienne intently.

Holding her hand, Jaime said, “Brienne, this is my father, Tywin Lannister. Father, my fiancée Brienne Tarth.”

His nails dug in her palm in a desperate attempt that she play along. Brienne shot him a quick frown before nodding at Tywin stiffly. Her eyes were big and the flush in her face deepening as Tywin’s silent assessment continued before remarking. “So. This is the woman at the centre of it all.”

“She has nothing to do with what was reported about Cersei’s children.” Jaime pointed out. Brienne looked at her bare feet briefly before raising her chin to meet Tywin’s stare.

Deliberately ignoring Jaime, Tywin continued, “What do you have to say about yourself, Miss Tarth? My son,” he glanced at Jaime, “has clearly been bewitched by you. Even Tyrion over here is mighty protective of you.What is it about you that has my sons running roughshod over me?”

“Father,” Tyrion spoke up. “I thought we’re here because you wanted to know Jaime’s side.”

“My side?” Jaime wondered out loud.

“These disgusting rumours about you and your aunt.” Tywin answered bluntly. “Is there any truth to it?”

“Maybe that isn’t the way to ask,” Tyrion interrupted awkwardly, shooting Jaime and Brienne a helpless look.

“What’s the point of being proper and polite at this point. So. Tell me the truth.” Tywin nodded at Brienne. “Perhaps you should excuse yourself for a while, Miss Tarth. This is a family matter.”

“Brienne is my family,” Jaime growled, snatching her hard to his side when she attempted to move away. “Whatever you have to say I want to know. Everything that will be said here tonight, I want her to know. I told you. I’m marrying her. There will be no secrets between us.”

As the two Lannister men continued to glare at each other, Brienne said desperately, “Maybe we should all sit down. How about that? Can we?” Tywin’s eyes flickered as she tugged at Jaime’s hand so he would move with her as she led him toward the couch. 

They continued to hold hands, their palms alternating between warm and clammy as Tywin sat on the huge armchair and Tyrion hopped up beside them. His pudgy hand patted Brienne on the knee and Jaime was grateful. 

Tywin had never been here and while he was not explicitly barred like Cersei, Jaime saw to it that his father saw no reason to be here. Sons had complicated relationships with fathers, a rule of the world as certain and set in stone like the death. But being the son of Tywin Lannister, the richest man in Westeros, was more than complicated. The business community revered as much as they feared the Lion of Lannister, as the press called him. Tywin was as brilliant as he was merciless, slaying his competitors with unflinching decisiveness. When asked, he reasoned that this was the way of the business world. For his sons, they knew that he did it because he refused to have anyone even think of crossing him. 

Anything that might reflect badly on Tywin and the Lannisters, he snuffed out with ruthless efficiency. He did it with Tyrion and Tysha and there was no reason to think he wouldn’t do the same with Jaime and Brienne. Narcissistic, crazy and an all-out slut she may be, Cersei’s claims on how Tywin used her to further the family’s success had some validity. That didn’t excuse her from her actions, Jaime understood that. He just wished that his father didn’t find out about their affair in the worst possible way.  
Needing her now more than she probably needed him, Jaime pulled Brienne close, his arms locking around her. She stiffened as he kissed her cheek, the side of her neck, longing to drown in her freshness, needing to be soothed and comforted. When his hand fell on her stomach, she quickly relaxed and gave him her mouth. Jaime drank from her lips, reassuring her and himself that everything would be alright. If they survived Oberyn’s attack, they would survive all that Tywin would throw at them.  
Just before Jaime pulled away, he whispered he loved her in her ear. Her quick nod told him she heard it. A little relaxed but still tensed, they turned to Tywin. His frown was enough to know he didn’t like what they’d just done. Jaime smirked. My house, my rules, Father.

“Jon Umber is on his way to find out what exactly has been happening. The company has been besieged by calls by the media and I was told that helicopters have been circling Casterly Rock. All employees have been issued memos that any form of communication with the media would get them fired and sued. These are only temporary measures.” Tywin began. “Tyrion has emphasized that we should issue an official statement as soon as possible but that can not happen until I know what really happened. Your Uncle Gerion refuses to answer my calls and if he’s smart, he would lie low. But you’re here. Not hiding.” His cold green eyes bored hard into Jaime’s. “Tell me what I should know.”

“Only if you’re ready,” Tyrion added quickly. “Only if you want to, Jaime.”

But it wasn’t Tyrion Jaime was focused on. He tapped Brienne on the shoulder so she would look at him.

Her eyes were a little droopy and he wondered if she was feeling sleepy already—it was close to ten o’clock. Despite that, he saw concern and worry there, but also a tenacity. It caught his breath. Brienne could be the softest, most vulnerable at times yet she could also be steadfast and stronger, harder than steel. He had seen her close to destroyed by Oberyn yet there was also a will to pick herself off the ground and fight back, difficult as it was. 

She knew what happened between him and Cersei the summer he was fifteen. Everything that happened from the summer he was fifteen—more than Tyrion. But if she was ready to hear it again, if she could hear it again. If she looked mad enough to kill Cersei for hitting him, having her go through it again in light of that would probably set her off. Our child, he thought, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking the full, thick bow of her swollen lips. You have to be stronger than us.  
“Jaime.” Her voice was as sweet as a siren’s call, luring him from the haze towards something pure and real. Her hand raised to his cheek, warm and solid yet also soft. It was enough to make him forget they were not alone. 

But, Brienne, bless her, didn’t. She looked behind her then at him, question in her beautiful eyes.

“Do you want to do this?” She asked, searching his face as she continued touching him.

“Are you ready to hear everything tonight?” He wanted to know. He was terrified, honestly. It was one thing to tell her how it began in one night, then the rest on other nights, on other days. It was also different with Tyrion. Having to tell his father, now, when his heart had been wrought so much in mere days, he was absolutely fucking terrified. 

Cersei had raped him. Brienne had told him enough times for him to realize she was right, even though he still thought he was willing. She raped you and got you all twisted that it was right and what you had was love. Gods, I could just kill her for doing that to you.

But what of Tywin? Would he believe his son over his sister? 

As much as he railed and raged against his father, Jaime wondered if what he told him would be the final blow. Would he still be Tywin Lannister’s son upon knowing what he did with his sister?

“I’m only ready if you are. And I’ll be here only if you want me to be.” 

“Maybe tonight isn’t the time,” Tyrion said but Jaime shushed him. 

“Do you want to do this? Because I’ll send them away, Jaime.” And she meant it. 

Then he knew.

It would hurt, there was no denying it, it would hurt if Tywin blamed him or refused to recognize him as a son once he knew the sordid details of the affair. But Jaime could live with that. He had for a while and was used to it. What would truly gut him was if Brienne left him after this. His mind couldn’t fathom the devastation her absence from his life would bring. But here she was, now and forever, no longer thinking to protect him by leaving him but staying at his side. Staying at his side, protecting and fighting for him. 

It was good he was sitting down. Otherwise, the gravity of her love would send him crashing to the floor, unable to withstand the magnitude of a gift he had always wanted but never thought would get. 

“I am doing this.” He looked in her eyes as she spoke. “Stay, Brienne.”

“I promise.”

Holding hands, he turned to Tyrion. The brothers exchanged a look before Jaime focused his attention on Tywin.

“It was shortly after Mom died. . .”

 

 

Fighting to be free from Oberyn was difficult but listening to Jaime tell them what happened twenty-four years ago in one night had wrung them out to the very last drop. At least, she had him to literally lean on during the most difficult parts of a narrative that had him choking up and gripping her hand tightly. Tyrion looked helpless and angry. 

Tywin looked every bit of his years and more. He had gone stiff, his slim, arthritic fingers clutching the armrests of the chair as Jaime described how Cersei came to him the day her divorce with Rhaegar became public. The ice in his eyes melted the worse Jaime’s tale got, and it did get worse. Jaime remembered everything too well. He had no minced on the details. It was sickening hearing what had been done to him but Tywin looked positively destroyed. Though Brienne was wary of him because of what he thought of her, she could understand his pain. His child had been hurt and abused right under his roof, right under his nose, by his sister. She didn’t waver in the belief that Cersei deserved worse than Seven Hells but now, seeing the anger in Tywin’s eyes return, she feared for the woman.

When Jaime finished, it was his turn to collapse in Brienne’s arms. She held him, easily taking on the switch in their roles to be the source of strength this time. At least she was only hearing it. He went through it. Though it had been a long time, there was no doubt he was tainted forever by this. She hoped their love would convince him he wasn’t. She rocked Jaime in her arms as if he was a child. 

“Thank you,” he murmured against her skin, his lips moving against her throat. “Stay. Don’t leave.”

She shook her head. “Not happening.”

Tywin continued to sit down while Tyrion took a sip from the bottle of beer. 

Then Tywin suddenly stood up. Brienne looked away from Jaime.

“Are you leaving?” She asked. “It’s. ..it’s almost one in the morning.”

“The chauffeur is downstairs. Don’t worry about it,” he answered, sounding weary. Brienne looked at Jaime then at Tyrion.

“You can stay here.” Red smeared her from forehead to neck as soon as the words were out. Looking at Jaime again, she asked, pleadingly, “They can stay here, can’t they?”  
Jaime, stunned at what she was suggesting, could only nod.

It was crazy, what she was saying. Tyrion certainly thought so, it was clear. But Brienne knew she couldn’t let Tywin leave after what Jaime had said. Father and son still had a lot to talk about. Jaime needed reassurance that his father would stand by him. Brienne didn’t know Tywin, she would never presume to know what he thought but it was also important he was made aware that Jaime didn’t blame him. 

What she was certain about was if Tywin left now, who knew when Jaime would see him again. She understood he needed to process a hell of a lot but her priority was Jaime. Telling his father the truth was probably the most difficult thing he ever had to do. If Tywin left, Jaime would interpret it as rejection and blame himself. That wasn’t happening under her watch. 

“This couch folds out into a very comfortable bed,” Jaime said, recovering. “There’s also a sleeping bag that’s yours, if you want it,” he told Tyrion. “The chauffeur can sleep on the couch in the shop. Brienne’s right. It’s late. You should stay here.”

“I’ll get the covers.” Brienne offered. “Give me the keys to the shop too so I can tell the chauffeur.”

“No, let me do that,” Tyrion said. Jaime handed him the keys. 

Together, Tyrion and Brienne got up. As they left the two men, Tyrion squeezed her hand.

“Thank you, Brienne.”

“It’s only common sense,” she muttered, flushing.

“That’s not what I meant. Thank you for being here. I should have told Tywin but Jaime wouldn’t let me. The circumstances are less than ideal but he knows now.” Tyrion watched Tywin sit down beside Jaime. “He’s never going to forgive Cersei.”

Brienne went to the closet and retrieved the best covers for the couch, pillows, blankets, and the sleeping bag for Tyrion. She gave Tyrion a blanket for the chauffeur to use then returned to the living room. 

She stood by the bookcases as Tywin put a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. Quietly, she stepped away and shuffled back to their bedroom. Some twenty minutes passed before Jaime went there looking for her.

“You were talking. I didn’t want to interrupt, “ she explained as she retrieved the covers and the pillows.

“Hold on. Come here for a second.” Jaime took the bulky items from her arms then pulled her to his chest. Brienne rested heavily against him, dropping her chin on his broad shoulder. She hugged him tight.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispered. “Thank you, wench.”

“How are you feeling?”

“It’s a work in progress but I can be hopeful,” he kissed her neck and pulled away. He looked tired but there was a brightness in his eyes she had not seen before. “It’s been a shit day but in a few hours, things will be better. I can feel it.”

She smiled at him. “I believe you.” 

“I love you, wench.”

“If you get my name right, I’ll say back those words to you. Until then, I have to make your father’s bed.”

Brienne headed back to the living room and there was Tyrion on the armchair and Tywin on the couch. When he saw her arms full, Tywin got up and relieved her of them. He waved away her offers to fix him the couch, saying he was more than able. Tyrion too, wouldn’t let her set up the sleeping bag. Then he announced that he needed to have a word with Jaime.

Brienne watched him disappear behind the bookcases before looking at Tywin. He had piled the pillows and blankets neatly on the other side of the couch.

“Uh,” she said, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Good night, Mr. Lannister.”

“You knew about my son. And my sister.” Tywin was tripping over the last word. “You knew about them yet here you are. With him.”

Brienne turned her eyes on him. “If you’re going to insinuate that I’m with him because he’s a Lannister, you can see yourself out.”

“I have to know.” Tywin said, far from apologetic. “He is my son.”

“I know you’re only doing what you think is right. But at this point, it’s really moot to question my motives. I have no motive, Mr. Lannister. I knew about them long before we started a relationship. The only reason I’m with Jaime is because I love him. If it’s a little hard to believe, I’m sorry. It’s the simple truth.”

“He clearly leans on you a lot.” 

“I do the same.”

“So you’re marrying him.”

Brienne didn’t dissuade him from the notion. “Yes.”

“You’re still married to another man.”

“That’s none of your business but yes. I am.”

“Tyrion tells me that this Oberyn Martell is the one who leaked the affair.”

“He threatened to do so, yes.”

Tywin looked at her from head to toe. Brienne stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated.

“My son clearly loves you.”

Brienne didn’t say anything.

“I heard that it was because Martell was arrested why this sordid bit of family history got out. Your husband has done significant damage, Miss Tarth. That I won’t forgive.”

“If that’s your prerogative.”

“My prerogative.” Tywin sounded amused. “You look like a skittish thing despite your size but I have a feeling it’s not the easiest thing to crush you. No wonder your husband did what he did. You appear to be committed to my son, having just threatened to throw me out if I question you any further. The truth is, despite having seen a couple of impressive things about you, Miss Tarth, I am still not convinced that you’re good for Jaime. Or being part of the Lannisters.”

“Whether you’re convinced or not doesn’t matter. If I’m an asset to your family or not, I don’t care. All that matters is Jaime. If this is the kind of. . .interaction we would have when I marry your son, rest assured that we will not have anything to do with the family. I know what my divorce is causing you but that doesn’t give you the right to intimidate or threaten me. I love Jaime. Nothing’s changing that.”

“Yes. I can see that, unfortunately.”

“I know you care about your son. But our relationship is of little matter compared to what you have with him. Jaime needs you. He’s carried this inside for years and years, blaming himself. He needs to hear from you that he is not blame. Just as I think you need to hear from him that he doesn’t blame you either. That is what you ought to fix. Not a press statement about Tyrek and Selyne, not about reassuring your stockholders, not your company. You might not approve of Jaime’s choices but you have to let him know that you support and love him.” 

Though she was speaking quietly, the force of her words was the equivalent of swords thrust and struck against an opponent. And Tywin Lannister had just landed on his ass.

“You don’t care if I approve of you or not?”

“No.”

Then Tywin smiled. Brienne didn’t know whether to trust it.

“Well, Brienne. You are quite singular, aren’t you?” 

Brienne didn’t know what to say to that. She was relieved when Tyrion returned just in time, teasing her that Jaime needed her. Mumbling good night, she ducked her head and went to their bedroom.

Jaime met her with a kiss, long and deep, slow and lingering. She kissed him back.

No, Tywin’s opinion of her didn’t matter. Jaime was what mattered. _Jaime and their child._

“Will you let me hold you tonight?” He asked, cupping her face in his hands.

“We hold each other every night,” she told him, letting him steer her to bed. The back of her knees hit the frame and she went down, taking him with her. She shifted until she was stretched fully on the mattress. Jaime followed and pushed himself up on his elbows. She played with his hair, touched his stubble.

“You told your father we’re getting married.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t believe it pleases him.”

“No,” he agreed, his eye shadowing briefly. “Do you forgive me, wench? I told him when I was in Casterly Rock. I knew he was going to insult you but it seemed a better idea that when he did so it was under the impression you’re my fiancée.” 

Brienne sighed. She was never going to tell him the conversation she just had with Tywin. The relationship between father and son was very fragile right now. Jaime and Tywin needed each other. 

“But I’m not.”

He bent to kiss her. “Not yet.”

“Care to change that?” Her heart leaped to her throat as she looked at.him with the little courage left in her after Tywin.

She had whispered it, which was why it took Jaime quite a bit to hear her and understand exactly what she meant. When he did, his eyes were shining emeralds, his smile beautiful and happy. What she would do to ensure he smiled like that always. 

“You want me to ask you? Now?”

“I know it’s ill-timed—“ She said, her eyes dropping.

“No, it’s not,” he told her. “But it’s just that. . .are you sure you want me to ask you after what just happened?”

“Oh.” Understanding, her voice softened. “You don’t want to tonight.”

“Brienne, I _always_ want to ask you to marry me. I’m surprised, that’s all. Let me process this for a bit?”

She nodded. 

“If I can kiss you, it will speed up the process.”

Giggling, she pulled him down to her for a kiss. This was more urgent than what they had just shared. Passionate. Hungry. He smirked at her protesting whimper when he raised his head away from her. 

“Will you marry me?” He asked, dropping an adoring kiss on her lips again and leaning back, brushing her hair away from her face, caressing her cheek, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “What about it, wench, will you marry me?”

Despite everything that had happened today and just a little while ago, Brienne burst out laughing and smacked him hard on the arm. As he grunted in pain, she retorted, “Really, Jaime? Wench? I can’t believe you!”

He laughed and rolled on his back, taking her with him. Brienne hummed as she rested on his chest, looking into his sparkling eyes. She butted her forehead against his neck playfully before returning her chin on his chest.

“Okay. I’ll be serious now.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “Will you marry me, Brienne?”

Her heart sang with love for this man. 

“Yes, Jaime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these dorks are getting married! 
> 
> I'll try to upload the next installment in the series by tomorrow. There's going to be more scenes with Tywin and Brienne (ha, he doesn't know about the baby yet, and the problems it brings), and we'll see Bronn (yay!), Gerion and our original characters. And Jaime, of course. There's still going to be angst but not as much as this one. 
> 
> Sorry, but there's also more scenes with Cersei and Oberyn. Petyr too! Ugh. 
> 
> I hope you like this latest update!

**Author's Note:**

> It's been established enough that Jaime is there for when Brienne needs him whereas Oberyn isn't. Their relationship is supportive and nurturing while her marriage is slowly becoming toxic (or isn't it already?). No doubt Oberyn is the bad guy but I'd also like for him to make an effort, half-assed as it is, to be there for Brienne. He does that. . .and also not.
> 
> I also wanted to touch briefly that Brienne was in a really difficult place. Between trying to fix her marriage to Oberyn, trying to start a family, she's dealing on her own the worsening situation of Selwyn's health. I did this not to justify her cheating but to show that this is something she did with complete awareness. It's a choice she makes, instead of circumstances making her do it although that's how things appear.  
> _____  
> Galladon and Brienne are not related. He's Selwyn's best friend from the force so they're the same age.


End file.
